


Born to Kill

by SheyRicci



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, General, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: Jason does things his way, when it comes to his men.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here I am - again!  
> Born to Kill is a song from one of my favorite rock bands - Airbourne - love, love, love those guys!  
> Just love these lyrics...
> 
> We take no shit, we don't compromise  
> 'Cause we don't care for your rules  
> We do it our way, we do it old school

 

* * *

Sonny felt the sweat bead on his forehead, start to dribble down his nose but he didn't blink and he didn't waver. He might not have seen this particular style of suicide vest before, but the woman wearing it was a fanatic, her thumb hovered over the detonator button and she wasn't shaking or quaking.

Ugh, why did it always have to be a trigger controlled by a thumb? If the thumb held the button down and you killed 'em, you blew up. Not pressed down, too far away to tackle them, you move, they blow you up. Damn trigger buttons! Christ, he hated them.

Ray was trying to talk her down, but either she didn't understand English or she was ignoring him, perhaps waiting, delaying for some reason. Either way, Sonny knew that if he, Ray or Trent made a move, she'd blow them all to hell. They were not close enough to tackle her and wrestle the trigger from her hand before she could thumb the button.

"Ray," Trent warned softly. They were all good, accurate shooters, but Ray was a sniper, his reactions were the fastest. Trent and Sonny both held their rifles aimed and ready for head shots, but it was doubtful they could fire before she could press her thumb down.

Didn't matter, it was a chance they were going to have to take. They just needed the command from Ray to fire.

"Steady, steady..." Ray began softly.

One second her thumb was poised over the trigger button, the next she no longer had a thumb. She stood in shock, staring at her hand, watching blood swell from the stump where her thumb had been a second ago. It just continued to gush, spilled down her closed fist.

Trent, who was closest, flung himself at her, grabbed her arm, took possession of the trigger, threw her to the ground...and that's when the wailing started. Shrieks of pain and shock and anger as Ray pulled clippers and set about disarming the vest.

Sonny covered them. Where the hell had that shot come from? And damn good thing her thumb hadn't been  _on_  the trigger button.

"Alley's clear." Came Clay's teasing voice in his ear, "Meet you at transport."

"Some mighty fine shooting there, young'un." Sonny felt the sweat on his back dry. He looked around, scouted likely locations the kid had made the shot from. Many shooters could easily make a head shot, could even take out a shoulder or elbow, but a thumb? From that distance?

"Hey, uh, six." Ray chimed in. "You're supposed to be at transport."

Trent was shaking his head, damn kid never listened, never did as he was told and had saved their butts again. It was becoming quite the habit.

"Roger that." Sonny replied, kneed Ray in the back. "Kid's improved a bit." He commented as Trent bandaged the woman's hand, ignoring her screams. "Getting as good as you there, ole timer." He taunted Ray, who grinned.

"He's faster, only gonna get better with experience and confidence." Ray replied. Trent positioned the woman's hands so she could apply pressure to her bleeding hand and Ray zip-tied them, it would be painful, but Trent didn't really care. "Don't suppose she'll pass out soon, eh Trent?"

He shook his head. "Not likely."

"Let's go." Ray said. "Sooner we get back, sooner we can give her to Ellis."

Sonny looked around, scuffed a toe through the sand. "We taking the thumb?"

Ray curled a lip in disgust. "No."

"Doubt we could find it." Trent packed his med kit, got to his feet. "It's in pieces."

Sonny matched Ray's look of disgust, dragged the woman to her feet. She didn't want to go, balked at moving, sat back down, kicked her feet. Sonny, in no mood for her bullshit – she'd tried to blow them up – simply shouldered his rifle and slung her belly down over his shoulder.

"Oh, you're moving whether you like it or not." He muttered, falling in behind Ray, Trent leading the way. "Frick-frackin' whore."

Ray caught Trent's eye, gave him a grin. Oh, Sonny was not in a good mood. Nearly blown up, saved by Clay who had again disobeyed orders and wasn't where they'd left him. One of these times, Sonny was going to follow through on his half-hearted threat to thrash the kid. Well, if Jason didn't beat him to it.

They reached the transport truck and Sonny gladly handed their prisoner off to Jeff, one of four at the transport truck from Bravo support. Ray gave the command to load up and go. Sonny hopped the tailgate and took a bottle of water from the cooler on the floor. Trent checked the prisoner's bandage then sat down next to Sonny and took a bottle of Gatorade. Ray jumped on the bumper and thumped the side of the truck, a second order to pull out.

They didn't move. Ray thumped again. Truck didn't even shift out of idle.

"Chris? Hey?" Ray jumped to the ground, walked alongside the truck until he reached the driver's door. "What's the hold up? Let's go."

Chris popped his head out the window, gave him a surprised look, eyes wide, but he pulled in, leaned forward and shifted into gear.

"We good?" Ray asked.

Chris hesitated, "Uh, yeah?" he questioned. "Just, uh, you…..I thought…..no? Okay."

"What?" Ray waited, Chris was their driver of choice, had steady nerves, steady hands and could drive anything, anywhere, through everything. He wasn't usually wishy-washy or hesitant.

"Don't you want to wait for Six?"

Ray looked around. For whatever reason, he bent and looked under the truck. Stood on the door step and looked on the roof.

"SONNY!" He bellowed. "TRENT!" Chris shifted back into neutral.

Identical heads popped out around the side of the truck, gave him identical looks.

"Tell me Clay's in there with you?" Ray demanded, stalking around the front of the truck – again, an action with no sane reason. "CLAY?!"

Two heads looked up, two heads looked down. The heads turned left, disappeared, reappeared, moving in unison, look on their faces still identical.

"Did he not say he'd meet us here?" Ray demanded, once again on the driver's door step. How had he not noticed Clay wasn't there? He tried to raise him on comms, failed, stomped to the back of the truck, stepped up on the bumper. "Matt?" He addressed the gunner who manned the .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the middle of the back of the truck. "You let him go?"

"Let him?" Matt wore dark goggles, helmet and face cloth against the sun and sand, but still, he managed to convey Ray an incredulous look. "How were we supposed to stop him?"

Ray nodded, he understood. No one on support held any authority or sway over anyone of Bravo, and Clay was a cocky little shit who would simply blow off any suggestions Matt or Chris tried to make.

"He did." Trent confirmed. He tried to raise Clay on comms, failed.

"Then where is he?" Ray banged a palm against the truck. "Dammit!" He jumped to the ground, scanned the surrounding area, noted the high buildings, scouted for the most likely window or high point Clay would have taken position to cover their backs. "Trent, with me."

"Whoa, hey there Junior Boss." Sonny protested. "Why…." He didn't finish, nodded. "Right." Trent, in case the kid was hurt. "Roger that."

"Sonny, call Brock." Trent gathered his backpack, his med kit, climbed out of the truck, took the bottles of water and Gatorade Sonny handed down.

"Oh no." Sonny shook his head, paused, shook it no again. "Nope, not gonna. He's with our boss."

"We might need Cerberus." Trent took extra ammo, tossed Ray a couple hand grenades.

"Keep your eyes open." Ray told Matt, told Sonny, stuffed grenades into pants pockets. "Hate to see an ambush, you're down 3 shooters." And the only reason he was sending Sonny back with the prisoner. The kid riding shotgun with Chris was new, Ray didn't trust him to hold it together, so that left Jeff on his own with the prisoner, so Sonny had to go.

"You want us to leave you out here?" Chris questioned when Ray and Trent appeared next to his window. He sighed with an impatient wince, hearing the wails and screams that had yet to abate in volume or frequency. "Can't we gag her?"

Trent considered it, then shook his head, their luck, she'd vomit and choke. "She needs medical treatment." He admitted grudgingly. "Sonny will get a Humvee, come back for us."

"She's a bit upset." Ray added with a grin. "She lost her thumb."

Chris paled. Yeah, he was a Navy Seal, but he preferred to be the nameless, faceless driver – like the original TV show S.W.A.T., the van's driver was never, ever seen – where everything happened behind him and unlike Jason, he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. Thank God.

"And if the kid's…." Sonny was beside them, paused, rubbed his forehead. "It'll take me some time to….."

"We'll call Blackburn for a helo." Ray said, held Sonny's eyes with his own until Sonny nodded, then turned with Trent and moved off.

Sonny gave Chris a thumb's up, settled on the bench in the back of the truck beside Jeff with the legs of Matt between them and the wailing banshee. Sonny supposed they could give her something for the pain, but…..she'd tried to blow them up and their kid hadn't returned to meet them, so yeah, she could suffer.

His ears didn't thank him for the decision though.

Chris put the truck in gear, but his foot didn't come off the brake until Ray and Trent were out of sight.

"What are we waiting for?" The new kid, Lance, riding shotgun, made Chris sigh, roll his eyes. He wasn't really part of the support team that ran with and for Bravo. He'd been sent on this mission only because Seth, Chris's usual shotgun partner, was home with a broken leg. Seth and everyone on support had a specific job. He was a mechanic, and supposedly, so was Lance. Chris just hoped the truck didn't break down on their way back, Lance was looking a bit green, didn't want to have to depend on him to fix anything.

"Hate leaving them out here." Chris eased off the brake and spun the wheel. "Dunno why we can't wait, see if they find him." But orders were orders and he would obey them. "Don't feel right."

 _WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH_ , wailed the banshee as they bumped along the road.

"Aah, 'cause we have a wounded, bleeding human in the back?" Lance ventured. No one seemed upset about that at all and it turned Lance's stomach.

"She tried to blow them up." Chris said simply.

"She's….she…it's a woman Chris."

"Who wore a suicide vest and would have blown herself up to take them out."

 _WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH_ , wailed the banshee. Sonny's voice could be heard, but not the words.

Lance thought it seemed like Chris was aiming for every hole, bump and stone on the road…and off, because he definitely swerved to the berm to hit that pothole. The hell? Lance stayed silent though.

He wasn't sure Bravo support was where he belonged. Granted, he hadn't spent much with the elite six, they had their own quarters, but the few times he had interacted with one or more of them, he'd been uncomfortable and ill at ease – Clay had not been happy he'd been left behind at the truck with 'them'. And damn, Jason Hayes rarely interacted with anyone but his men, and still the Master Chief intimidated the hell outta him.

Master Chief - referred to as Boss by everybody. Yeah, Lance didn't like that, but well, he supposed the term was correctly applied…still, he preferred 'leader'.

He was quick and abrupt, most times outright rude. He snapped and snarled, was always moving, never still, issuing orders and throwing out commands as he strode through the room or across the base. Lance had seen him hit things, punch things – people included; had seen him throw things, kick things, have a tantrum; had seen him yell at people, question their motives and loyalty; dress his men down, scold them, reprimand them, punish them. At times, Lance thought the Bravo boss was unnecessarily brutal and violent and he simply did not get or understand why his men, support included, were so loyal to him.

Pretty much, Lance thought Jason Hayes was a dick.

Out of everyone on support, Jason would talk to Chuck, their pilot; their doc, who wasn't really part of the support team; Chris, their driver; Kenny and Karl, the muscle. Everyone else was sent in behind Bravo to clean up and other than Lance apparently, no one had a problem with viewing how violent and brutal the aftermath was.

Well, Lance didn't really have a problem with it, not really. He understood that was the roll support played and it was his job. Support did a lot of recon and surveillance and clean up. It was just, other than Ray, no one bothered to even say thank you or say job well done. Hell, not even a thumbs up.

He couldn't be too upset, he certainly wasn't willing to put in the dedication, the hours and the training, the grueling physical and mental demands to be one of the elite, nor the willingness to be away from home more than he was home. It was bad enough, getting the call saying they'd be deploying in so and so many days. There were times the elite team left within minutes of a call.

Hell, the training he'd put in, still did, to be a Seal was hard enough, he couldn't imagine participating in Green Team training. Nope, no. Just no.

"It's not personal." Lance said belatedly. "I mean, she'd blow up any American."

"It's personal." Chris insisted. "Eyes out the window, don't look at me."

Lance averted his gaze, he was stunned how fast Chris was daring to drive on these dirt, sandy, gutted roads. A time or two, going around a curve, Lance was quite sure they were only on two wheels. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, wondered how Chris managed to hold onto to the wheel with sweaty hands, realized with dismay, Chris wasn't sweating - and wasn't wearing gloves. Well, damn.

"You trying to roll us?" Lance braced his hand against the dashboard. It made him even more nervous that Chris wasn't nervous!

"Wouldn't do that." Chris grinned. "Blow your elbow out, we wreck."

"Then slow down."

His grin faded and he focused on the road. "Not with Six unaccounted for." He said determinedly.

"The guys in the back…."

"Ride with me all the time." Chris said firmly. "They know to hang on, strap in."

"The prisoner doesn't." Lance pointed out. "Her hands are tied, she can't buckle in." He thought it odd a transport vehicle with mere wood benches for seats had seat buckles, but whatever.

"Then she'll roll about on the floor."

"She could get hurt."

"Hell Lance, she threatened to blow them up! She gets a bruise or two, ain't gonna shed a tear." Chris said impatiently.

Yeah, this 'I don't care about anyone' attitude was not one Lance intended to adopt.

"She's missing her thumb." Lance continued, knew it was useless. Sure enough, Chris flipped him off. Lance let it go, he really preferred Chris driving with both hands on the wheel. "What does driving like a maniac do?"

"Gets us back to base faster, gets Sonny to Jason and Brock faster, gets them all back to Ray and Trent faster. Every second out here matters."

Lance didn't see how if they rolled the truck, but he lacked the experience Chris had and he didn't hear any thumping from the back of the truck, so no one else had complaints about the ride.

 _WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH_ , wailed the banshee. Well, maybe one did.

() () ()

Sonny, arms braced, feet spread and planted, swayed and moved with the wild motion of the truck. He didn't have a cell phone, couldn't directly call Jason or Brock but he could key in, raise Davis or Blackburn, but with the way his luck had been going today, he'd get Ellis and she wasn't in a very good mood. He could wait until they were back at base, but that would waste time, Davis could have Jason and Brock already on their way back to meet him at base.

"Dammit." He muttered, motioned for Jeff to muffle the screams of the banshee, who after repeated fingers to lips, stopped screaming and continued to sob into her hijab. Better. He released a support pole. "TOC, this is Bravo three." He slid into the tailgate, banged his hip; slid, bounced, hit his head; slid, caught his shoulder. Yeah, he needed two hands but in no way, was he going to request Chris to slow down.

"Bravo three." Davis responded.

"Yeah, bit of a situation."

Either Matt or Jeff would have called Command to report they were returning with a prisoner.

"We read you," Eric said.

"Two and four are not with us."

Eric exchanged a look with Davis. So, Sonny and support were en route to base with the prisoner, but….

"Status of six?" Eric asked. He knew the reason, just not why or what.

"Unknown."

"Request?" Eric pushed.

"Might need the dog."

Lisa shook her head, reached for a satellite phone. Eric continued to talk to Sonny, filled Lisa in as he got what details Sonny was able to provide.

() () ()

Jason looked down at the satellite phone on the dash when it rang. Really? Cerberus barked, Brock scratched his ears, cast a glance at Jason.

"Hell, I dunno." Jason waved it off. "Answer it."

Brock picked it up. "Yo?"

"Brock, hey it's Lisa."

"Davis, what's up?" He said her name to get Jason's attention, reached over to slap the back of his hand across Jason's shoulder. Jason put the binoculars down, gave Brock his full attention, and waited. Couldn't be good.

"Yeah, hey, gonna need you to come in."

"Reason?"

"Sonny called, can't account for Clay, Trent and Ray stayed behind to look for him. Sonny's coming in with a prisoner."

"They took one alive?"

"Mmm, Clay shot her thumb off."

Brock whistled. Her? "Damn, yeah, okay, on our way back."

() () ()

Ray cursed when he realized Clay had not notified them where he had decided to 'go high' and Clay didn't always pick the same location Ray would have to set up over-watch. All he had said was 'alley's clear'.

"Bravo six, two to six, you copy?" Ray tried for the 10th time. "Do. You. Copy."

No response, Trent picked up his pace, started a slow jog. Ray cursed again, followed. They headed for the highest building with windows facing the alley – all of three floors. Still, jogging up those three short flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time, took freaking forever.

Trent's heart raced, Ray's breath was short, both were scared of what they might find – or might not find. Trent reached the top floor, started kicking open doors on his right…found Clay in the third room.

"Clay?" Thank God they'd found him. The thought of him being taken….Trent shook the horrible thought off.

Clay was slumped against the wall, chin to chest, rifle across his lap. Ray faltered, tripped over his own feet…..the position, the slumped posture…..usually meant, bullet to the head. He came up short, put a hand out to brace his weight against the door frame. No. No. No.

God, no.

Trent went down on his knees in front of Clay. An action a medic would normally take to check on a fallen soldier, but in this case, it was because his legs dumped him. Hand shaking slightly, he reached out with two fingers on his left hand to tip Clay's head up by his chin. He grit his teeth, Clay wore his helmet but Trent was prepared to see the round hole with blackened skin in Clay's forehead, maybe a trickle of blood...drying.

Ray grit his teeth, prepared for Clay to list sideways and slump to the floor on his side from Trent's touch; kept his hand against the wall, ordered his knees to lock and his legs to continue to support him. Wondered how Trent did it, remain so calm…waited, forced himself to watch….

When Clay's head tipped up and Trent did not see a bullet hole, he felt for a pulse in his neck, found it, counted.

"He's alive." He told Ray. "Clay? Hey kid. Clay?"

Ray said a prayer, pushed away from the wall and keyed in. "TOC, Bravo six in sight."

"Status?" Eric barked.

"Working on it." Ray replied. "So far, breathing."

() () ()

Chris was talking, but not to Lance, so he paid no attention to who Chris was taking to, just bemoaned the fact Chris didn't always have both hands on the wheel. Couldn't really hear him anyway. He either forgot Chris's warning not to brace himself with his hands against the dashboard or decided to ignore it in favor of safety. His hands and feet were all firmly planted when Chris careened onto base, braked and skidded through the sand before finally coming to a stop.

Almost a stop.

Before Lance could make his hands detach from the dashboard and reach for the door handle, he realized they were still moving oh-so-slowly, caught sight of what was happening in the side rear-view mirror.

Sonny hung over the tailgate, swung the prisoner down to the ground by her bound hands, ignored her screams. Hands reached to take her from him and he simply dropped her, Lance winced at the rough handling but she was whisked away, out of sight within seconds. Lance expected Sonny to jump to the ground…..he didn't.

Barking and a cloud of kicked-up sand brought Lance's attention to the windshield. A dog was running, barking, jumping in circles. Dashed towards the truck, whirled, ran to the trio of men coming out of a building, turned and bee-lined for the truck. Belatedly, Lance was sure he heard a whistle from behind the truck, figured Sonny must be calling the dog.

Directly behind the dog, coming at a run towards the truck in full tactical gear, were Brock, Blackburn and dear God, Hayes. Lance swallowed, what the hell did they want?

Someone was shouting, the tailgate was lowered, the dog bounded aboard. Chris, the truck rolling, took a drink from a canteen, waited. Lance didn't know what to do. Chris wasn't stopping, wasn't shutting down the truck, wasn't getting out, was now talking into a CB? A CB? Really? Out here? Where the hell had it come from? Wait, what was he saying? They had enough gas for one more trip?

Trip? A trip to where?

And then, Chris was pulling out. Lance leaned forward, peered into the side mirror, Jeff and Sonny held on with one hand, hung over the tailgate and with their free hands, pulled Jason, the last to board, onto the safety of the tailgate. How the hell Chris knew everyone was on board, Lance had no idea, but he picked up speed and with a thump that bounced Lance's head off the cab roof, hit the road at top speed.

All Lance could think was; how the hell had Chris known Sonny wouldn't be taking a Humvee to return for Bravo? That he would be driving them all back? That Jason and Brock were at base waiting for them? How?!

() () ()

"They got him?" Sonny was asking Blackburn as Brock calmed Cerberus and Jason talked to Jeff about the prisoner and what he knew about what had happened.

"Got him and he's alive," Eric replied. "Unconscious, Trent's working on it."

"No idea what happened?" Brock asked once Cerberus decided Matt and Jeff did not need to be chased off the truck.

Sonny produced a collapsible bowl from a pocket, poured water into it, held it for the dog while he drank.

"Must he drool?" Sonny complained. "Can't you teach him not to do that?"

"Slobber." Brock corrected with a grin. "Not drool."

The return drive was just as wild and fast as the drive to base had been. This time, Lance stayed silent, letting Chris concentrate on driving. He thought Matt must be tired, had to be bruised and banged up, but when Chris skidded to an abrupt halt, Lance murmuring his condolences to the brakes and shocks, both Matt and Jeff were on the ground with Bravo when Lance slowly climbed out of the cab.

Jason gave the orders, not Blackburn. Chris and Matt were told to guard the truck, be ready to pull out hot. Sonny and Brock had already trotted off with the dog. Eric and Jeff were scouting the area.

"You," Jason pointed at Lance. "With me."

Lance couldn't help but look helplessly at Chris who smiled at him encouragingly, gave him a thumbs up and a slap on the back. Jason jogged off and Lance reluctantly fell in behind.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My normal/usual disclaimer - medical inconsistencies.  
> *sigh* and I thought this was going to be a short one...seriously, what is it about me and this show?! Holidays are coming, I need to stop! And I can't...ARRGH!

"No movement." Ray reported to Trent, his attention out the window. "All's quiet, what we got?"

Trent dragged Clay by the ankles away from the wall until he was lying flat on his back. He first removed Clay's helmet, checked it for cracks or dents or even dirt, any sign it had suffered a blow – found nothing, set it aside.

"Pulse is rapid, he's panting, skin's dry." Trent called out as he felt Clay up from his shins to his chin, found no holes in his cloths, no broken bones. "In this heat, dressed in full gear, he should be sweating like we are."

Ray sighed, turning from the window to meet Trent's eyes. "So what, you're saying he fainted? He can't possibly have dehydrated so fast." Trent shrugged. "Seriously?" Ray complained. "Jason is going to kill us."

"We've had this problem with him before, Eric's always on him about it."

"Yeah, but….yeah, no. People don't dehydrate that fast." Ray insisted, paused. "Do they?" Because Trent would know more than Ray would about medical details.

"Apparently, he does." Trent pulled a bottle of Gatorade from his backpack. "Not a big deal, now we know it, we just make sure he drinks more of this." He poured a bit of the red drink over Clay's lips, waited to see if the kid would lick at the moisture. He did, so Trent slid a hand under Clay's head, raised it from the floor and supported it while allowing him small sips. When Clay swallowed, Trent let him have more then cut him off. Cay protested with a whine, but Trent held firm. "In a bit kid."

"He doesn't like warm Gatorade." Ray argued. "That," he pointed, "Is out of the cooler. Room temperature makes him throw a fit…..don't wanna see him, you make him drink it after being out in the sun all day."

Clay stirred, wanted to raise a hand, hold his forehead, but every time he tried, his hand was slapped down. He was pushed and pulled, his feet lifted one at a time, hands were at his waist, his belt, his zipper, tugging, wanting him to lift his hips….he did. Tried again to hold his head, again was denied. The weight of his vest fell away, the pinch of the ammo clips was gone, he was sitting up, his backpack slid of his shoulders. He ducked his chin when his shirt came off over his head and then he was on his back, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and underwear.

He should feel scared, feel threatened, he had no idea what was going on, but he didn't. The hands were rough, but not abusive. The movements were fast and confident, experienced, and somehow familiar. He heard the buzz of a conversation but couldn't distinguish words. He concentrated for a moment, waited to hear his name, or a command to open his eyes, but when neither came, he went limp.

"Tough shit." Trent snorted. "He wants to keep his job, he'll learn to drink it without a fucking fuss." He easily manhandled Clay one way, then the other, rolling, pushing, shoving until he had the kid stripped to his t-shirt and boxer briefs. Ray didn't offer to help, if anyone could get them outta their gear and clothes in record time, it was Trent. And this time, he didn't even have to cut off anything. Trent sat back on his heels with a sigh, back of his hand against Clay's forehead. "I don't trust him Ray."

Ray blinked in surprised. "Say what?"

"You, me, I'd say, eh, dehydrated. Get out of the sun, cool down, drink, good to go. But not this one." He wasn't happy the offer of Gatorade and its acceptance, being out of his gear and clothes, wasn't bringing Clay around. "Not this one."

"He's proving to be a pickle, eh?"

"Better safe than sorry." Trent pushed to his feet. The kid was limp and floppy, not uncooperative but not coordinated either. "Gonna look for a bathroom with running water. Gonna be a while before Sonny gets back for us."

Ray nodded, waved him on. He'd find it. He'd find whatever he was after because whatever he wanted would be for Clay and the kid had a lucky horseshoe up his ass. He snorted. Sonny, huh? Yeah, right, oh hell no. Sonny wouldn't be coming for them alone.

No activity out the window, Ray took a break, moved to Clay's side, who of course, now that Trent was gone, was stirring. Rather than being annoyed or angry, Ray was amused. He kept his rifle across his lap, had a silent conversation with the good Lord above over his quirky sense of humor: giving Jason Clay.

Ha! That had knocked their conceited Boss down a rung or two. This kid gave him a run for his money, kept him on his toes, kept him thinking. Mmmm, not a bad thing.

The kid was giving them all fits, had put them all through the wringer, made them face hard choices and harsh facts but the bottom line was; not many men would have disobeyed orders, left the transport, sought high ground and took, let alone, made the shot. All on his own. And yes, Ray had to admit, if Clay hadn't been feeling well, it would have been better to shoot her dead then to aim for her thumb and miss. Yes, he realized bringing one – whoever they were – in alive had benefits and Ellis would be pleased, but both Jason and Eric were going to say; it hadn't been worth the risk.

Oh yeah, Clay would be running hills for a week.

That. All that, is why Bravo had decided to keep the kid. Cocky, sure. Arrogant, yes. Conceited, definitely. Full of himself, without a doubt. Anyone better, more confident, willing to take the risks, accept the punishment, do whatever he had to, to protect his team? Hell, no.

"Clay?" Ray tried to gain his attention, wanted him to wake up, talk to him. "Hey, you with me."

"Mmm." He licked his lips, tongue between his teeth, rolled his head on the dirty floor. "Head hurts." He palmed his forehead. "S'm hot."

Ray offered Clay some Gatorade, pleased that he swallowed it, only dribbled a bit down his chin. Ray's fault, maybe he'd given him too much.

"He awake?" Trent was back. "Found a bathroom, tub's filling."

"For what? Why?" Ray looked up, cast a look at the window. "Said he's hot, his head hurts."

"Bet it does." Trent sighed, spread his hands, shrugged. "Ray, I'm learning as I go with him. I never know what to expect. It's why I told you to leave him at the transport when he drank Gatorade instead of water. Whether he knew it or not, that's a telltale sign." Duh, Ray, we just had this conversation!

Ray looked towards Heaven, Trent gave him a look, then looked at the ceiling to see what had caught Ray's attention. He saw nothing while Ray congratulated the good Lord for giving Clay Trent as his medic. Trent liked - loved - a challenge, never backed down or away and he certainly wouldn't be bored with Spenser on the team.

"Is it serious?" Ray felt the first stirring of unease in his belly. Trent was calm, so that was good, right? "You think he knew?"

Damn good thing Trent was just like his Boss, Jason found Clay a unique challenge too or the kid would never still be on Bravo.

"Just a precaution," Trent grabbed Clay's arm, pulled him up, squatted down. "I think he felt dizzy or weak, but no, he would have told me." He locked his knees, pushed up. "Water's here, nothing to do but wait for Sonny to come get us, better safe than sorry. I don't know how high his temperature is."

"His temp…? Wait, what?" Was Trent thinking possible heat exhaustion, heat stroke? So, cold water immersion? Ray didn't think Clay was that bad, a cold bath probably overkill but yeah, why risk it. No ice here anyway, just cold, not ice cold, water. Ray guessed if Clay hadn't rattled Trent by drinking not-quite-cold Gatorade, he wouldn't find himself about to take a cold bath. "Dehydration Trent, doesn't require an ice bath."

"It's Clay." Trent rose to his feet with a grunt, Clay wasn't a big guy, but the little shit weighed a freaking ton. "It's not heat stroke, but I just feel better doing it." Roger that, Ray nodded, he wasn't going to argue. Nuh-huh. Not with Trent. Not over something like this. Clay didn't fight or protest, but once upside down over Trent's shoulder, he gagged, choking. "Sonofa….." And there came the red Gatorade.

Ray put his rifle down, moved to help Trent swing Clay off his shoulder.

"He doesn't like that, huh." Ray juggled Clay's shoulders into his arms, got a firm grip, let Trent carry Clay's feet and backed out of the room, following Trent's instructions. He didn't like leaving his stance by the window, but their only other option to move Clay was for Trent to drag him. Yeah, Ray didn't like that thought.

"He ain't gonna like this either." Trent muttered, entered the bathroom as Ray backed in.

"We easing him in?" Ray asked. "Or dropping him?" He eyed the tub. "Trent, that tub is not clean."

Trent rolled his eyes, like it mattered. "Not trying to get him clean Ray." He huffed. "Ease him in. He might flail, splash, you'll get wet."

"Will feel good." Ray blew him off. "I'm good."

"Ass first, then his shoulders, you go down first….easy kid, you're okay." Trent murmured, ducked a splash of water from a kicking foot. "I've got him." He told Ray once Clay was in the tub, knew Ray was anxious to return to the window. "We're good, go."

"You sure he's okay? Just the heat? Dehydrated."

"Yup." Trent nodded. "Drink something."

Bolstered by Trent's firm, unshakable confidence, Ray left him to watch Clay and went back to scout out the window, bottle of water in his hand.

"No." Clay muttered, the cold water a shock. "No." His hands flopped, splashed, tried to first grip the side of the tub with both hands, then a hand on either side, then went under the water, palms down on the bottom, but again, Clay failed to find the strength to push himself out of the water. He next tried to pull his feet up, sit forward, but Trent used both hands, one on each shoulder to hold him down - gently, not restrained.

"Clay, hey, enough." Trent said firmly, somewhat sternly. "Enough, give it a minute, it'll start to feel good."

Clay stilled, he knew that voice, trusted that voice, it always somehow made him feel better. Now, if only he could find who the voice belonged to. He reached out, slapping at the side of the tub, it was all he could touch, feel, and it wasn't what he wanted.

"I'm right here." Trent put a palm on the kid's chest, let Clay clasp his sleeve at the wrist. "Right here Clay." He was fast learning Clay was content when he was with someone he trusted, could touch them or somehow hold on to them. Soon, Trent was going to have to share what he was learning with the rest of Bravo. He imagined Sonny being the one Clay was with when he grabbed hold and wouldn't let go, snickered. Oh yeah, that wasn't going to go over well.

Clay liked to cling but he never knew he was doing it and he never remembered doing it. The kid sure was testing his abilities as a medic.

"Cold." But Clay settled down in the tub, no longer attempted to get out, didn't resist when Trent gently encouraged him to wiggle down into the water, knees up. Might not be a comfortable or dignified position, but Trent wanted Clay's torso and as much of his shoulders as possible submerged in the water, didn't care about his knees.

"Sssh." Trent shushed him, gently used the hand Clay didn't hold by the wrist to intermittently slosh water over the rest of him. "Not going anywhere, 'k?"

He had Ray bring him a bottle of Gatorade, hoped Jason never found out that instead of leaving Clay alone for two seconds, he chose to have Ray leave the window unguarded for a good minute.

***000***

Lance wondered how Jason knew where to go. It occurred to him there was more communication via comms than he was aware of. He had no idea what the hell was going on. Why they had returned instead of just Sonny? Why was a Master Chief going after one of his own men when there were plenty of other soldiers to conduct the search? Drive him back to base. _Why the hell was Blackburn with them?_

He had a lot of questions but he stayed on Jason's heels, jogged across the lot, down an alley, into a building and up 3 flights of stairs. He had no idea where they were going or what he was supposed to do when they got there, but he kept up the pace, only stopping when Jason charged into a room where Ray, poised at the window, his back to the door, said:

"Hey Boss."

How the hell had Ray known it was Jason? Right, Lance nodded, Ray must have seen them coming. Still though, how would Ray know Jason had been first through the door?

"The hell Ray? Not safe here." Jason greeted. Lance nearly ran into his back, managed to avoid a collision by side-stepping and hopping over a broken chair. He looked around, didn't see Trent or Clay. "Area is not secure. Why are you still here? Thought you'd meet us. Where is he? You got him, let's go!"

"Know that Jay." Ray replied, jerked a thumb over his shoulder to an open doorway across the hall. "See Trent."

"He not mobile?" Jason asked, crossed the room, moved into the hallway, heading for the open doorway. "I got two at the truck, four scouting the area, we gotta go." He clapped his hands. "Get him up, let's move."

"We haven't seen any movement since Sonny left with the prisoner." Ray shook his head. "Haven't even heard a truck."

"Did you hear us come back?" Jason waited, Ray shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, what I thought. Pick him up, let's go." He charged through the door, loomed in the doorway. "The fuck Trent!"

Lance was confused. Jason had come all the way out here to…..uh….what? Berate his men? Curse them out?

"Not happening." Trent said simply, he nonchalantly sat on the side of the tub, a hand making waves in the water. "Howdy Jace."

Jace? The medic called the boss by his first name? No, wait a nickname. Oh, wait, so had Ray. Boss, Jace, Jay, asshole, Lance thought.

Lance saw Jason falter, pause, but didn't know the reason was because of the use of his nickname(s). He looked at Ray, could see out the door and through the other, Trent sat on the side of an old cast-iron clawed tub that Clay was sprawled in, then back to Ray, cast a side-eyed glance towards Jason. Why had Hayes and Blackburn come all the way out here? Sonny could have easily returned on his own in a Humvee to pick his team up…..and like Ray had said, they could have called for a helo…... _Blackburn_ was out here! Lance still couldn't wrap his head around that.

"Why are you still here?" Jason demanded. "Why is he taking a bath?"

Lance's mouth dropped, he quickly turned his back. A bath? Really? That's what Bravo's boss wanted to know? Is that what he really thought?

"Where else were we supposed to wait?" Ray was beginning to get an attitude. Lance backed away, started for the window. "Outside in the heat? The sun? We'd have to carry him and there was no one to cover us."

"Toss him over your shoulder and go!" Jason waved a hand in demonstration. "Not that hard Ray, we can all carry his weight."

"Tried." Ray admitted. "Doesn't hang upside down well Jay."

Jason backed into the room, saw the red splatter on the floor. "Give him water."

"Talk to Trent about that." Ray replied.

"The hell is his problem this time?" Jason sighed, the frantic panic subsiding now that he had Clay in his sight and Trent was relaxed and calm. "What happened?"

"We left him at transport." Ray left the window, saw Lance was coming to take his place, motioned for him to put a pep in his step before Jason yelled at him.

"Then what the fuck is he doing _**here**_?" Here meant it all; the third floor of the building, in a tub of water, Trent by his side, holding onto Trent's sleeve. The hell was that? Not like the kid was in danger of drowning.

"They saw a group of kids…."

"Who did? They?" Jason interrupted. "Who's they?"

"Chris and the others." Ray pointed at Lance, called Jason's attention to him.

"You! What are you doing?" Jason snapped his fingers, pointed. "Window, cover us. Do your job."

Lance gulped, moved over to the window, aimed his rifle, sited and scanned the area.

"Clay decided to follow her when the kids went one way, she went another. She had an S vest…..he went high….you know the rest." Ray pointed at Lance, shook his head, made a cutting motion with his hand. Jason glared. Ray's hands went to his hips, Jason sighed, backed down.

"Why wasn't he with you?" Jason softened his tone.

Ray looked at the ceiling, out the window, at Lance, at the floor.

"Why. Wasn't. He. With. You." Jason repeated, teeth gritted, jaw not moving.

Lance was glad he had his back to the room, the men couldn't see him wince over Jason's tone.

Trent shrugged. "He drank Gatorade rather than water."

Jason, in the hallway between the two rooms, threw his hands up in a WTF motion, gave a shimmy-shake. "I'm supposed to know what the fuck that means?" His tone was sharp, but he wasn't yelling - least, not yet.

"I've noticed when he hasn't had enough to drink and it's hot out, he will choose Gatorade over water." Trent replied.

"You've noticed?" Jason repeated sarcastically. "Just notice things like that, huh?"

Lance scanned the corner of an alley, thought he saw movement in the shadow of a building. He needed to pay all his attention to what his job was, not focus on the argument behind him. Still, he was in awe that in the face of Jason's anger, Trent didn't stutter or hem and haw.

"Today confirms it. I don't think he even realizes it Jace, but that kid winces, I'm on him and you damn well know it." Trent explained. "He either feels dizzy or weak or maybe just off and that makes him choose the Gatorade, it's not necessarily a conscious choice."

"Why can't anything ever be simple and easy with that kid?" Jason complained but moved on.

"Cause he's Clay!" Ray joked. He was in the room with Lance, Jason closer to the room with Trent and Clay.

"It's my opinion." Trent clarified. "From watching him, keeping notes." Now that he had pointed it out, both Jason and Ray would be watching the kid like a hawk watched a mouse. Oh yeah, they would get their kid figured out.

"So, what? He dehydrated?" Jason was quick, Lance would give him that. Lance would never have made the connection and Jason just jumped to the correct conclusion. "That fast?"

"Yup." Trent said. "From now on, Gatorade or PowerAde, whatever Davis has. We just need to keep an eye on him, if we see him choose drink over water, he's either dehydrated or soon will be." He looked down at Clay, Jason's brows met, was Trent trying to hold back a smile? "And don't hang him upside down." He added.

"So, you benched him."

"Ray did." Trent corrected. He pointed to himself, shook his head. "I don't have the authority to do it."

"Because you told him to." Jason pushed his hands through his hair. "Dehydrated again, unbelievable." He sighed, Trent nodded. "He disobeyed a direct order. Again. _And he took the shot_?"

"We wouldn't be here, he didn't boss." Ray said.

"The hell Trent? I sent him with you because all you were supposed to do was check out a shop rumored to be a front for selling dope." Jason wanted to punch something, refrained. "He would have been better off with me and Brock today."

"Hey, don't yell at me." Trent protested. "Yell at him." He splashed water in Clay's face. "You're mad at him, let him have it."

"Well, I would, he were awake. Why isn't he?" He wasn't mad at anyone, he was worried and it pissed him off. "Coffee and scones, ring any bells? Not find suicide vests."

It was Trent's turn to look everywhere but at Jason.

"Trent!"

Trent held a hand up. "He's not in distress Jason. He'll come around, you splash water in his face." He splashed Clay again. "See?" Clay rolled his head on the back of the tub, raised a hand to wipe his face. "Yeah, he's dehydrated, our fault as well as his own."

"You're going to tell us how we can avoid this from happening again!" Jason barked. "You hear me?"

Lance froze. Say what? Not what he ever expected to hear Jason say.

"Easily done." Trent said, not bothering to point out, he'd just did. "We ever suspect he's dehydrated, all he's gotta do is show us his tongue. It's white, he's dehydrated."

"White tongue, keep him off water, on sports drinks and don't hang him upside down." Ray rattled off. "Done."

Jason sighed, sat down on the tub side next to Trent. That was it? A white tongue? Eh, yup, easy-peasy, who cared if anyone thought it weird if Bravo ran around, always telling their rookie to stick out his tongue. "So what, he fainted?"

"Hard to tell with him. Get him back to the infirmary, let doc have a go at him, but yeah, I'd say so. I guess."

"You think there's something else?"

"Ever since he threw a reaction to Demerol and not morphine, I'm always gonna think there's something more."

"I'm too old for this shit." Jason muttered, lowering a hand to help Trent swirl the water. Soon his sleeve up to his elbow, like Trent's, was wet. "Why are we doing this?"

Good thing Lance had a windowsill his weight was supported on or he would have fallen right out the window. He'd turned to dare a look over his shoulder to see what Jason was asking about, was floored to see Jason-the-asshole-Hayes sitting beside his teams medic on the side of a filthy bathtub, splashing water without any care to getting himself soaked.

"Splash water on him."

Yeah, that explained nothing, but whatever. Trent could tell him to sing a lullaby and to see those blue eyes blink up at him, clear and alert, he'd sing the only one he knew – Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Alana used to sing Brahms lullaby to the kids but that was beyond his reach both then and now.

"When can we go?" Jason asked a moment later. "Don't feel at ease out here. Patrolling in twos, not safe."

"I'd rather not go until he's awake and coherent on his own, but we can carry him. Ray and, who is he?" Trent paused, noticed Lance. "New on support, huh? They can cover us. Can Chris bring the truck closer?

"Hey, uh….um….you…..yeah…well….." Hell, what was Lance supposed to call them? "Guys? We got movement."

Ray was next to him in a second, sniper rifle balanced on the windowsill. "Boss, I see two."

Jason was off the tub and out in the hallway, calling Sonny on the comms, then Davis.

Lance, standing right next to Ray, watched in, well – awe? horror? – as the two people he saw walking a block over just dropped. Ray hadn't fired, though he easily could have, he was trained on them, so then, who had?

"Eliminated." Eric came over the comms.

Lance heard it, so they must be back on a channel or frequency he could receive.

"Boss, what's the hold up?" Sonny said next. "We're attracting company out here."

"Getting too close for comfort Jason." Eric added.

"Right, okay, yeah." Jason motioned to Trent who nodded. "We're heading out, meet at transport. Sonny, Brock, fall back, cover from behind."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah, to clear up any confusion - sorry! - I'm still in the first season 'setting' and this story would be back around when Clay first joined Bravo.  
> Yeah, I know, I tend to jump all around. Oops! Forgive me?!

 

"Clay? We gotta go." Trent cupped his hands and repeatedly threw water in Clay's face until the kid sputtered and flailed, shaking his head – water sprinkled against the wall, against Trent. "You with me?" Clay nodded, paused, shook his head, nodded, shrugged. "Get up, time to go."

"Take that as a yes." Jason ordered. "Move."

Lance stayed next to Ray, remained steady as he tried to decide who had taken the shot – shots…..and why? The two men had just been walking, hadn't carried a gun, didn't appear to have S vests and bam…..they were dead. He didn't have time to ponder the 'what for' for long. One second Jason was issuing orders in the room with Trent and Clay, the next he was next to Lance, hand on Ray's back.

"GO!" Jason grabbed Lance by the shoulder, spun him around, shoved him towards the door. "Take point. Ray, stay up his ass." He was crossing the room. "Trent? He good to go?"

Lance didn't understand the sudden need to rush and flee. Two men were all he had seen and all they had been doing was walking down the sidewalk but Jason was encouraging - ordering - everyone to move it, so Lance moved it.

Trent retrieved his gear, collected Clay's, returned to the tub. Clay was standing, dripping and shivering on the floor, looking bewildered but somewhat aware and mostly alert.

Clay didn't have time to question or wonder why he was dripping wet in his underwear, Jason was on the move and training dictated he fall in line and obey. He hesitated a second, took his pants from Trent, put one foot through the leg...Jason? When the hell had the boss got there? And why? And who the hell was that? He squinted, tossing his head to make the wet flop of bang flip off his forehead and out of his eyes.

"You good?" Trent held his chin in one hand – when the fuck had he done that? – was snapping his fingers in Clay's face with his other. "Hey, look at me."

Clay blinked, wow, really Trent? Gonna use that tone? Well, okay, then. He looked, blue eyes wide and questioning.

"You good?" Trent asked again, gave Clay's head a slight shake. "Hey!"

Clay frowned, why wouldn't he be? Yeah, he wasn't where he was supposed to be, but he really didn't think disobeying Ray's order to remain at transport with Chris and the others necessitated calling Jason to come all the way out here to yell at him.

Trent was doing just fine yelling at him on his own.

He'd stayed put until a group of kids had come around the corner, their teacher or chaperone, whatever, behind them, but she had parted ways and Clay had decided to follow her because her actions had not set right with him. He'd gone high, that was his job, go high and protect from above...by the time he'd gotten to the window, she was holding his team at bay with a trigger release to a suicide vest in her hand. He certainly hadn't expected that...he'd taken the shot, he'd hit his target and...and what?

"Clay? HEY!"

Trent was impatient, yelling at him. And Trent didn't yell.

"Uh, guess, yeah." He finished pulling on his pants, managed the zipper, not the buttons. Huh, he peered down, usually his pants only had buttons. He had no idea why he was wet and in his underwear either. He looked at the tub, saw the water, frowned. He'd taken a bath? Taking the shot was the last thing he remembered. What the hell had he done or what the hell had happened, that Jason had come after them? Now wasn't the time to ask. He collected his helmet, vest, belts, rifle, holster, everything else, clutched it in his hands, under his arms and fell in behind Ray as they headed out of the room, down the hall, down the stairs and out into the blinding sun...

"Clay?" Trent was beside him, helping him stand. He hadn't even realized he was on his knees. Yeah, it was the suns fault, the sun did it.

"The hell Trent?" Jason was on Clay's other side, pulled him up. Lance and Ray had continued on. "Can you walk?" He barked at Clay, didn't wait for an answer, started off, pulled Clay with him.

Clay stumbled along, held up and supported between Trent and Jason. He managed not to drop anything until they rounded a corner and Cerberus barked. As the dog darted about and around their feet, items starting slipping from his grasp, hit the sand, he tried to bend over to pick what he'd dropped up but for every item he managed to retrieve, he dropped something else. And bending over made him want to fall over. Oh no.

"Kids on his feet?" Sonny remarked, watched him side-step and hop. "He's scared of the dog?" Cerberus was sniffing Clay's feet and he kept standing first on one foot, then the other. "Since when?"

Lance came to an abrupt halt by the sharp tug on his backpack. He skidded in the sand, looked over his shoulder, turned around. Ray was trotting away from him, returning the way they had just come to join Sonny and Brock who had met up with Jason and Trent. Lance belatedly realized, no one else was with him, he was alone. Much as he wanted to reach the truck and the familiarity of Chris, he turned around, trotted back to the corner, rounded the building...and stopped...just stopped.

"Sand's hot." Trent was telling Sonny as Clay, feet burning in the hot sand, balked at standing still. Boots, tucked under one arm, hit the ground and he turned, seeking shade, relief from the sun. Trent grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, halted his attempt to move off in search of shelter. "Whoa, stay right here." Clay danced, swinging sideways but was held in place by Trent's firm grip on his shirt.

Lance was unable to focus on anything but the scene now in front of him. Brock was picking items up from the sand, Clay was dancing at the end of the hold on his t-shirt, Trent was talking to….well, someone, Lance couldn't decide who. Sonny was slapping at Clay. Ray was conversing with Jason, whose hands flung up and out and wide in agitation, trying to talk him down.

"The hell is he bare foot for?" Brock questioned as Clay blinked and ducked, turned his back to the sun. "His boots?" He started picking up what Clay was dropping. "Chris pulled up, end of this alley."

"Heat, sun." Still holding Clay's t-shirt, Trent bent over, picked up Clay's rifle, slung it over his shoulder. "I've got him."

"Let me." Sonny slapped Clay's hands, got the response he was looking for...the kid dropped every last item he held. "Come here fancy-pants." He ducked a shoulder, easily hoisted Clay, ignored his squawks of protest, and set off for the truck. Brock and Cerberus following.

"Yeah! Hey! Sonny!" Ray called. "Not a good….." He sighed when Sonny flipped him off. "...idea."

"You and me." Jason told Trent as Sonny bellowed in outrage, cursed, complained about getting red juice out of clothes, his pants better not be permanently stained, Davis better have some kind of laundry detergent that could get it out.

"You, me and doc." Trent corrected. "Something ain't right Jace, it's more than I thought, ain't just the heat."

He and Jason picked up what Clay had dropped and Brock hadn't gotten, followed after Sonny.

"You coming?" Ray asked Lance, who, in a daze, stared at the spot where Sonny had picked up Clay and moved off. "Hey! Gotta move!"

Lance nodded, started to walk, Ray nudged him in the back with the butt of his rifle and he broke into a jog. He was at a loss….if he didn't know better, he'd think Clay Spenser was drunk. But he did know better, so…what, then? And Master Chief Hayes wasn't behaving like Lance expected him to, not compared to previous actions and manners observed on base and after other missions….he'd actually bent over and picked up socks and gloves, carried gear and equipment that wasn't his.

"Hey, not that way," Ray called.

Lance cursed, shook his head. Right, Brock said Chris had moved the truck. Ray steered him to the right, Lance could see Sonny ahead of them before he turned another corner. Despite all of Sonny's yakking and complaining, he still carried Clay. Apparently, being puked on wasn't such an offensive act that you got put back on your bare feet in sand that was hot enough to burn 'tender soles'.

Wow! Lance sought out the dog, if the sand was too hot for human feet, what about canine? Oh, right, yeah, he hadn't noticed before, the dog wore little booties. Huh.

Eric and Jeff were on the truck, taking Clay's weight from Sonny when Ray and Lance rounded the last corner. Matt was in his normal perch, swinging the .50 cal mounted gun in a slow circle, watching, waiting, ready. Brock and the dog jumped into the back of the truck after Sonny. Lance didn't see Trent or Jason.

"INCOMING!" Yelled someone from somewhere.

One second, Lance was moving towards the truck, Ray right beside him, the next a whirling, snarling ball of fur was snapping at his ear. He was on his belly, eating sand. The dog had a man on the ground, growling, tugging on an arm, actually dragged him as Lance raised his head, blinked, spit…..damn, the dog was going for blood…why wasn't someone calling it off?

Shouts, running feet and raised voices, rifles fired, the mounted machine gun erupted into motion.

Lance lowered his head, covered it with his arms, pushed with his feet, his goal was to roll under the truck…..where was Ray? He was grabbed, dragged, lifted, hauled by the back of his vest to the safety of the truck where he was roughly hoisted and tossed in - by who, he didn't know. He gained his knees, aiming to gain his feet, but Jeff shoved him to the back of the truck and he went sprawling. He rolled over, sat up, and a wet, hot body fell into his arms and he stayed down.

"YOU STAY IN THE TRUCK!" Someone ordered someone. It sounded like Ray, but Lance didn't think it was directed at him. "THAT'S AN ORDER! DON'T YOU **_DARE_** DISOBEY ME THIS TIME!"

Befuddled, Lance squirmed beneath the heavy weight across his lap, had to lean left, then right to see around Matt's legs, but now he could see the attack on the truck. The dog had alerted them to the presence of the approaching man and attacked. No one was calling him off. Lance had never in his life, seen a dog kill a man….

He heard someone shout orders, assumed it was Jason, though he hadn't seen him at the truck. Jeff went flat on this belly on the floor of the truck, took up defensive shooting to cover Bravo. Brock and Sonny were no longer on the truck, had taken off at some point for some reason. Ray was not in sight either. No one was.

"You keep an eye on him, you hear me?" Eric was yelling as he slithered out of the truck. "Do not let him out of your sight!"

Lance, still dazed from the violent throw to the ground and toss into the truck, had no idea what the hell Eric was talking about. Who was he talking to? Jeff? Certainly not Matt. Him? Watch who? Why? Where was everyone?

Empty shells from the machine gun ammo belt pinged all around him, Matt was calling to Jeff for a reload and the truck started to roll. The weight across Lance's legs shifted, rolled, and was gone. Blindly obeying orders, Lance scrambled to grab it back, but Clay was out of reach.

"Cover them!" Clay yelled. Crawling after his own rifle, he reached for it, it slid away, he reached again, chased it.

Lance blinked. How had Clay known where to find his rifle? How did he even know to look for it? Why had he expected to find it? Hell, Lance hadn't even seen anyone put it on the truck, yet there was Spenser, grabbing for it, getting it, bringing it around...a sniper rifle. Damn.

Lance didn't know whose orders to follow, but bullets were hitting the sides of the truck and it seemed Chris was driving in circles and picking up speed, so he went flat on his stomach next to Clay and took up defensive firing alongside him. Their job was to defend Matt who was the only defense and protection for the men still outside the truck.

Through the dust and clouds of kicked-up sand and smoke from rounds, explosions, crumbling mortar from hit buildings, Lance saw men running towards the truck. Jeff stood over them, tossed a grenade, the ground shook, the truck tilted right, everyone slid, then Clay was on his knees, holding onto one of the benches, leaning out to grab a hand, hauled the running man aboard, Jeff did the same. Once aboard, they reached for the next. One after another, the men from Bravo boarded the truck in one manner or another; Brock, Eric, Ray, Sonny, Trent, finally Jason.

Cerberus was already aboard. The man he'd attacked howling and rolling in the hot sand.

Last man on, the truck gained speed, bumped along until it hit the road and Chris went full out.

Lance laid his forehead on his gun, he needed to check his clip, needed to make sure everyone was indeed on the truck, make sure everyone was okay. The sounds of gun fire was so distant, it was no longer a threat. Matt was no longer firing either. Lance pushed up from the floor, sat on his hip and turned to look behind him.

No one was settled. Eric was asking everyone for injury status, Brock was checking the dog over, Sonny had Jason pinned to the floor of the truck. No, literally pinned, Sonny's knees on his boss's shoulders. Trent was in Ray's face, demanding answers, told him to forget about Jason and talk to him.

"Jason's fine." Trent snapped, cuffed Ray upside the head. "Sonny has him, I'll get to him. Look at me."

Had Ray been hit? Something had caused everyone to flee the truck. Had they had to go retrieve Ray?

"Where you hit?" All of a sudden Trent was in front of him, patting him up and down in the same manner he'd just beaten on Ray. Ow. The medic was not at all gentle. "Arms straight out. Talk to me."

"I….I'm not." Lance stuttered as he obeyed Trent's commands. Was he? He didn't think so. No. He hadn't fallen because he'd been shot, he'd fallen because someone had thrown him to the ground. Ray? "I'm good."

Trent didn't take his word for it, didn't leave him alone until he was satisfied Lance wasn't shot, and then finally, he turned his attention to Jason.

Sighing shakily, Lance looked at Jeff for guidance but he was giving Matt a bottle of water and a wet towel. Jason was obviously hurt, but Trent had made sure no one else was before turning to see to his boss. What the hell was that? Lance supposed it made sense to make sure no one was more seriously injured than Jason, who was awake and talking, but it didn't seem likely that Jason was the type to wait. Maybe Trent knew what his injury was and thought it could wait, but…..shouldn't the team leader, the boss, be taken care of first?

Lance sighed, shrugged it off. He was okay, bit shaken, looked around. Eric was on his comms, Brock was talking to Ray, Sonny and Trent were arguing with Jason, he turned to look for Jeff…...and met a gaze of blue that did not reflect acknowledgement.

In fact, it was hostile.

Clay needed something familiar to ground to because all of a sudden the motion of the truck made his head spin and he wanted to lie down, close his eyes. But he couldn't because his team was…..was….was…..what, where? Dammit, he had to think! Where was his team? His eyes widened...who the hell was staring at him? He swallowed…he didn't know this, this person who held a rifle...he had his own...his team was pinned down...he couldn't leave them...couldn't go...he was in a truck, he was leaving...no...not Trent. Not Ray. Not Sonny. He couldn't leave them behind.

Lance yelped in surprise, lunged forward to catch Clay, managed to grab a foot before he could fall - jump? - out of the truck. His shout and frantic flailing startled everyone. Jeff started, but Eric, who was closest, threw himself at Clay, they hit the floor with a grunt. Brock whirled, leaned for the tailgate, pulled it up and hitched it with a strength and quickness that stunned Lance. He wasn't even sure Brock hadn't caught Clay's fingers in the hinges.

Trent looked over his shoulder, must have decided whatever Clay's issue was, it wasn't more important than Jason, because he told - _told!_ \- Eric to handle it and returned his full attention to his boss. Oh, so now Jason had the medic's full attention. Would Lance ever understand?

"What the _hell_ was that?" Ray demanded. Lance tried to answer, but his tongue had not yet found the ability to move. He just sat, breathing hard, let go of Clay's foot, watched Eric struggle with Clay, who while not throwing punches, was fighting to get free.

"Looked like..." Jeff began, paused, shrugged. "Dunno Ray. Thought he was gonna jump."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Ray shouted. "The hell Spenser!"

Jeff shrugged. Lance shrugged, but unlike Jeff, he didn't meet Ray's eyes.

And Ray pounced on that. "What?" He demanded. "Spit it out. Don't clam up on me, not here. Not now. Not with Jason down."

"I, uh..." He swallowed. "Um...he...it's like, I dunno."

"He doesn't know him." Trent answered around a curse and a yelp from Jason, a roll of tape in his mouth. He cut a bandage with scissors. "Yeah Boss, hurts, I know, now shut up and stay still."

Ray frowned, Eric stared, Brock paused, Sonny huffed. What the fuck did that even mean?

"Get off me." Jason warned Sonny, Trent shook his head so Sonny stayed put. "I'm not down." He growled, squirmed a bit but didn't throw his weight into dislodging Sonny. "Christ."

Brock gave the dog water then moved to give Eric a hand with Clay. "I've gotcha kid."

Lance looked up when Jeff squatted beside him, handed him a bottle of water. He took it but didn't know what to do with it. The dog? Really? They saw to the dog before Clay? That was messed up.

"Stitches?" Jason asked. "Shit, stings like a bitch."

"Smallest injuries usually do." Trent taped and wrapped and tied and wrapped some more. "Maybe, need to get back and clean it properly, then we'll see." He held up the shard of metal he'd pulled from Jason's left forearm. "You're up to date on tetanus, you're good."

"The hell is that?" Sonny took it from Trent. "Nothing blew up, where'd it come from? I swear boss, only you."

"I fell." Jason sat up, winced, held his arm close, wondered what else was buried in the sand, was thankful they hadn't found out. "We all good? What's his problem this time?"

"Cool him down." Trent advised, attention still with Jason. "Dizzy at all?" Jason shook his head, gave Trent a thumbs-up.

Eric gingerly got off Clay, pushed up on his palms and looked down at Clay, who remained beneath him on his back. Brock opened the cooler, soaked a towel in the cool water from melted ice. Eric lifted Clay's head and Brock wrapped the dripping towel around his neck. His shirt had already dried.

"Waiting for Lance to tell me." Ray said calmly.

Lance blinked, drank water. Ray knew his name. Woot. Oooohh-oh-oh. Ray wasn't as calm as he appeared. He was tense, almost rigid, waiting for an answer.

"It was...like...I don't think...he, uh, recognized...knew me." Lance stammered.

"So what? He tries to jump out of a moving truck because he doesn't know powder puff there?" Sonny questioned. "What the hell sense does that make?"

"Trent? Anything?" Eric asked.

Trent walked on his knees to Clay's side, reached to feel his pulse, counted, sighed. "I just said Clay didn't know him." He did his normal routine, pried open first one eye, then the other. "Hell, I dunno. I thought it was the heat, he simply dehydrated." He held his hand up when Eric began his favorite diatribe about not drinking enough in this climate. "I know Blackburn, I know. He was hot, we cooled him down, he came around, thought he was okay. Then we came outside, sun killed him." He used the heel of his palm to block Clay's nose, not a gentle gesture but it had the desired outcome, Clay opened his mouth to breathe. Jason was hanging over his shoulder.

"White tongue." Jason nodded, now knew what Trent meant. "Gotcha."

"No signs of heat exhaustion or heat stroke." Ray added.

Trent nodded. "Cold bath was just a precaution. The water was there and we had the time."

Eric looked at Lance. "I left him with you, anything happen?"

Lance paled. Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn was speaking directly to him? Asking questions? Waiting for an answer? Bravo supports leader, Dutch and his second in command Randy were rarely stern and demanding, but Hayes and Blackburn were never anything but.

"He, uh, Jeff was covering but Matt needed to reload, so he….um….he….." Lance pointed to Clay. "Grabbed his rifle and told me to help him cover." Chris gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We both went flat...he had his sniper rifle."

"So, he came around."

"Out of the sun, maybe?"

"He was out of the sun when he passed out after taking the shot."

"That what he did?"

"Wait, you're saying he cudda been dizzy, woozy...and he took the shot?"

"He aimed for a thumb?"

"Shudda taken the kill shot then."

"He's out of the sun now."

"Was shooting out of the back of the truck into the sun."

"Did he try to jump?"

"He's calm now."

Trent took hold of the end of the wet towel, used the corner to wipe Clay's face and neck, asked for a bottle of water. He looked down, expected to see Clay holding onto to something – someone. Yup, his fingers clutched the loose material of Brock's pants leg at the knee.

Oh boy. Yeah, he was gonna hafta have that talk with Bravo real soon. Like today. Trent sat and drank the water. Clay was calm and quiet now because he was with someone he knew. So, he'd guessed right. Clay hadn't recognized the new kid from support. But what the hell had he been thinking? Had he panicked? Had he been thinking clearly? What would have made him try to jump from a moving truck?

Trent tipped the bottle, let water drip and dribble on Clay's forehead, into his hair, waited to see if the kid would protest. He did.

"Don't." He slurred, pulling away. "No."

"Don't like that, huh?" Eric said, giving his cheek a smart slap. "Hey!"

"Blah…ack…ern?" Clay stirred, raising a hand to hold his forehead. So, kid still had a headache. "Shsh...it." He raised his head, let it fall with a thud. Trent winced, shook his head at Eric. Didn't want that to happen again.

Lance thought maybe the stinging red cheek from an unnecessary slap would have been what Clay held, but nope, he paid it no attention, rubbed his forehead instead, fingered his wet hair.

"Hey," Eric leaned over him, face close to his. "Spenser?" He called to him repeatedly until finally, Clay blinked up at him, eyes wide before narrowing until his eyebrows touched. "Hey, you with me?"

"Mmmm." Clay licked at dry lips. Eric and Jason were both here. Couldn't be good. What had gone wrong? "The...guys..." He tried to sit up, was pushed back. Fought to sit up, was forcibly held down. "No. 'Rnt? Two?" He tried to roll to his knees, was held on his back. "Son? Nee? The...guise?" He slapped at the hands that held him down. "Can't leave 'em…gotta go back."

Guise equaled guys equaled Sonny and Trent, Eric translated. Two? Oh, Ray.

"You little shit." Sonny was beside Eric, smacked Clay's bicep. "I'm right here, you runt." The last thing he, anyone, wanted was Clay to fight them in an attempt to get up.

Clay blinked, squinted. Three faces were above him. Eric, Sonny and Trent. He relaxed, his breathing evened out, his hold on Brock did not let go. Then he tensed, where was Bravo two?

"Ray?" He still held his forehead. "What…..happened?" He took a breath, held it, blew it out, held another. "Sui...bom..."

"Spenser." Ray wedged in between Sonny and Eric. "We're good. That's right, suicide bomber. You took the shot, you remember?"

"Her...thumb?" Clay questioned haltingly, nodded after a moment. That's right, he'd shot off her thumb. "Ellis. She...uh...she wanted, always wants...one alive."

"Trent?" Jason was running out of patience. He had some words for Mandy when they got back. A simple outing to run surveillance on a possible drug drop had turned into a full-blown shit show. And taking a hostile alive over the safety of his men was something he wasn't ever going to allow to happen again. No matter what she said or what she wanted, Clay would never again listen to Amanda Ellis over his team leader. "Explain this." The kid was going to learn Jason's way - one way or another.

Rationally, he knew Trent didn't have all - any of - the answers, but his best guess would satisfy Jason for right now.

"I'd say he's confused." Trent bit back defensively, let Eric offer Clay plain water. Sonny grousing about red juice on his pants not the reason he didn't offer Gatorade. "We'll see what doc says."

Here and now was not the place he wanted to talk about this.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Jason sat on the floor with a bottle of green Gatorade and stewed. He was pissed for so many reasons, but yeah, what good would it do to blow up here in the truck? The guys were hot and dirty and no one was happy or comfortable. You didn't easily shake off nearly being blown up and only walking away because your teammate had ignored direct orders.

Clay had disobeyed Ray again. Yes, it had been for a good reason, but no, he couldn't continue to do it. It didn't matter why Clay had been left at transport or whether or not he agreed with it. You did as you were told by whoever was in command.

Jason sighed. What the hell was he going to do with the kid? He made Spenser run whenever he acted out or disobeyed but Jason had a sneaking suspicion the kid loved to run. He wasn't fond of running hills but where, in a flat desert, did you find hills? Regulating him to latrine or kitchen duty wasn't an option, so other than working with Davis with ammo and equipment, there wasn't much Jason could do to punish the kid.

The kid's actions had saved his teammates from probable death, how could Jason be angry at that? He couldn't, he wasn't, but he should be! Clay simply could not continue to do what he felt was right whenever he felt like it! Would Clay have obeyed the order had it come from Jason? Doubtful. So, it wasn't rebellion or because it was Ray giving the orders, it was Clay thinking he knew best.

How to kick that out of him? Maybe he did know best, but he couldn't continue to act on it.

Jason sighed, took a drink. How many other soldiers would have questioned the woman's actions simply because she didn't stay with the kids and disobeyed orders and followed her? Not many, too few. It was those instincts and gut feelings that had made Jason listen to his team and select the kid. Well, that, his talent, his abilities and the fact everyone on Bravo wanted him - Blackburn and Davis included.

They hadn't been wrong either.

Mandy? Well, she was another issue. He was going to have a good ole shouting match with her. Then another with Clay about her. He'd set that to rights, right quick.

Something was eating at Trent, Brock was amused – so most likely he knew what was up Trent's ass - those two were always so quiet but they were sneaky. Somehow, someway, Jason was going to have to get to the bottom of whatever this was. And soon.

He shifted his weight, brought his legs around, booted toes against Clay's hip, rested his back against Ray's legs who juggled his knees to comfortably accommodate Jason's head - for Jason. With both Trent and Brock on the floor, blocking immediate escape via the tailgate, even if Jason had to kick him in the side, no way, was Clay getting out of the truck on his own.

Trent finally relaxed, slumped against the tailgate. Clay was quiet, breathing normally, pulse rate fine. Trent wished the kid would sweat, but it was nothing to be overly concerned about. They would be at the infirmary in 10 or so minutes, doc would get him on IV fluids and then they'd figure out whatever issue he had this time. Right now, he was quiet and content, still had a grip on Brock, who, after a shared amused look with Trent, sat and didn't disturb him.

Brock wasn't comfortable, his legs were cramping, but a bit of numbness could be handled if it meant Clay wouldn't attempt another dive off the truck into sand. As long as the kid was content, Brock would sit and suffer in silence. The ride to base wasn't all that long anyway.

Ray fumed. The kid had not stayed where Ray had told him to. Ray wanted to be angry, pissed. Wanted to rant and rave. Wanted to hug him and thank him that Ray was going home to his wife and kids. Clay didn't always disobey him, most of the time he listened and did as he was told. It was only when he sensed danger or thought something was off that he went 'rogue'. What really upset Ray was, usually when the kid did that, it was at risk to himself.

Sonny stared at Trent through lowered lids, chewed his toothpick. Neither Trent nor Brock got off the floor nor moved away from the kid. Simply dehydrated, his ass. Someone was going to start explaining shit or else. He almost thought the kid was high or drunk, but no. In the months - and it hadn't been that many - that the kid had been running with them, Sonny had never seen him take anything Trent or a doctor hadn't given him. He drank, they all drank, but never secretively. Jason tolerated a lot of shit, put up with attitudes and antics and moods, took a lot on himself to spare his men, but he would never, ever tolerate any kind of drugs. He rolled his head, adjusted his gaze to look at Clay, who other than the occasional moan at a bump, an attempt or two to rub his forehead, was still and quiet. Humph!

Eric grimaced. This team was gonna be the end of him. He was always bailing Jason's ass - and Bravo's - out of hot water with the brass. He didn't see Jason parting ways with the kid and if Jason were to try and transfer him out of Bravo, Eric pretty much suspected Trent would go with him. How about that? Oh, he'd keep that suspicion to himself. Yeah, Eric didn't see retirement coming any time soon.

Lance sat on the bench closest to the tailgate. The activity in the truck had settled down. Sonny, Jeff, Ray and Matt all sat on the bench seats, heads back, eyes closed. Trent sat on the floor next to Clay who had fallen quiet and still, drank water, paid Clay no attention. Eric and Brock shared a quiet conversation but soon fell silent, Brock on the floor near Clay, Eric on a bench. Jason stared off into space, looking like he'd happily kill anyone and everyone if they dared interrupt whatever the hell he was thinking about.

Really? Ten men total in the truck and everyone just sat and did nothing? Lance wasn't sure what he expected them to do, but sit in silence wasn't it. They didn't even try and rouse Clay, just left him sprawled on the floor, wet towel around his neck no longer dripping, his face flushed and dry. Lance frowned, shouldn't he be sweating? Lance sure was, kept wiping his face on his sleeve because sweat kept beading on his forehead and trickled down his nose.

Would this ride ever end?

Chris had slowed to a safer speed so they were turning onto the base. Lance would be glad to get back, shower and change, get something to eat. This day hadn't gone at all like he'd thought it would. He was tired, bone-weary tired and beginning to ache from his face-plant and toss into the truck. Ow.

Yeah, it didn't go as planned. Jason spoke and when the boss spoke, everyone listened. Lance was ordered to the infirmary with Ray. Jason, who was noticeably injured, didn't accompany them, Lance didn't know where he went or why. His weak protests that he was fine and didn't need to get checked out were ignored when Jason looked at Trent, and the medic shook his head.

"Come on." Ray walked away from the truck, his gear and equipment left behind. Guys from support were already converging on Chris and Matt, started collecting everything that was strewn around and left. Equipment would be collected and returned to Davis, trash would be tossed, the truck cleaned. "There's no getting out of it now, best to go and get it over with."

"But….but….I'm ok." Lance protested as Clay was handed down by Eric and Sonny to Brock and Trent. In his opinion, Jason and Clay needed medical attention more so than he and Ray did.

"So'm I. But Trent says we're going, we go." Ray grinned, clapped him on the back, steered him towards the infirmary. "You hit the ground pretty hard there, sorry about that."

So, it had been Ray.

"Uh, thanks?" Lance ventured. "I'm okay, would rather get a shower, something to eat."

"Gotta learn to keep your head down and when in doubt, hit the ground, go flat." Ray was saying as they walked to the infirmary. Lance lost sight of Clay, but Brock was walking towards Bravo's barracks with Sonny. "Bullets tend to fly around us, you know? Hey." He greeted the medic who met them with a smile and a nod. "You don't want to get on Trent's shit list." He added to Lance.

"You bringing someone in? Or are we seeing you?" The medic asked.

"Both. This is Lance." He pointed. "You on rotation again?"

They were waved into the room. "Daily. Surprised you didn't bring Clay in."

"Uh, Trent did."

The medic laughed, pointed to a curtained area. "I'll give you a few minutes. Who's first?"

"Uh, shouldn't it be Clay?" Lance asked. He was gonna have a bruise or two, that was it. Wanted to suggest Jason be seen but didn't dare.

"Take the kid." Ray said.

"Doc has him if Trent brought him in." He pulled the curtain aside. "In you go, down to your briefs."

Lance swallowed, looked for Ray, but he had gone behind his own curtain.

() () ()

Trent answered the doc's questions regarding Clay as best as he could. Together they soon had Clay undressed, blood drawn, ice packs and wet towels applied, IV fluids dripping, then they both cornered Jason.

"Sit." doc ordered. "None of your macho shit. The boy is right there in your sight. Give me your arm."

Jason didn't argue, sat down on a gurney, let the doc unwrap his arm and poke and prod until he was satisfied there was little damage, then laid back and let the doc properly clean and stitch the wound.

"No idea what the hell he cut his arm on?" The doc asked Trent. Jason sighed. He was used to the two of them talking like he wasn't even there. It was annoying as hell, but eh, you pick your battles and this wasn't one to fight.

"Shard of metal. No idea from what."

Some thirty minutes after Clay started receiving the IV, he began to stir. Jason was sitting up, arm freshly bandaged when Clay decided to sit up, then get off the table – gurney – bed, whatever.

"Whoa there, I don't think so bud." Jason slid off his gurney, crossed the floor, put a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Stay."

Clay blinked, reclined back on his elbow. Ow, he had a headache. He sighed, kept his eyes closed for a good minute, then let them flicker and flutter until the room wasn't so bright. Ah, hospital, infirmary, whatever. How the hell had he ended up here? He lay back down, didn't feel so good sitting up anyway.

"Spenser?"

Someone was calling his name? Who? Why? Wasn't he in bed? He was tired, he wanted to sleep. His hand itched. Probably sand. God, he hated all the fucking sand. Oh no, not sand. An IV port. Right. Doc and Trent both preferred to insert the line into the back of his hand, apparently he had a habit of blowing veins.

"You with me?"

"If I hafta be." He muttered finally. Knew from experience the sooner he answered the command to respond, the sooner he'd be left alone. "What?" He raised his untethered hand to rub his forehead. Why was he wet? He felt cold. He turned his head, searched for Trent, found Jason. His eyes widened before he turned away, lowering his gaze. The boss was here?

"Well, howdy-ho." The doc greeted. "Tell me your name."

"Clay." He licked his lips, tongue dry. "Uh, Spenser."

"Where are you?"

"Desert. Aah, Helmand?" It took him a moment, but he recalled where he thought he was. "Or…..infirmary."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Team doc."

"How do you feel?"

"Lousy." He admitted. "Head hurts."

"Dehydration."

He didn't care, he wanted to sleep. He'd answered enough questions. He had a needle in his arm – hand, so fluids. He was good, they could all just leave him alone. Maybe he'd feel better when he woke up.

"Stay with me a minute." The doc said, Clay was uneasy, shivering a bit, so doc removed a couple of the ice packs. Trent shook out a light blanket, laid it across his legs, pulled it up to his chest. "You can sleep soon. Can you tell me if you took any medication today?"

"You think he did?" Jason asked, pulling up the rails on the bed.

"Oh, I'm betting on it." The doc said. "Trent's guess is correct. No fever, temperature's normal. He threw a reaction to something."

"Um…" Clay shook his head, pulled the blanket up to his chin. He was cold. "What?"

"Clay, what did you take?" Trent offered him some water in a cup with a straw. He tasted it, made a face, spit the straw out. He didn't want water. Trent exchanged the cup with another cup from a table, offered it to Clay. This time, after he took the straw between his teeth and got his first taste, he drank.

Right, the kid liked fizz; Ginger-ale, 7Up, Sprite. He knew that, hadn't forgotten.

"Dunno." Clay eased onto his side, hunched a shoulder to his ear, snuggled into the pillow. "Kept…um, sneezing. Davis, uh said…..wet duffel….on the plane."

"Did she give you anything?" Trent asked. She was allowed to give the kid morphine, ibuprofen and sleep aides. That was it.

"No." Clay yawned. "She said she couldn't, so we landed…came here….they did."

"He didn't see me!" the doc objected to the twin glares from Jason and Trent.

"Do you remember going to the village to check out a café?" Jason asked.

"Yuh-huh."

"Do you remember Ray ordering you to remain at transport with support?"

"MmmHmmm."

"Do you remember following the woman, going high, taking the shot?"

"S vest."

"Do you remember passing out? Being given a bath?"

Clay turned slightly, head coming off the pillow to look quizzically over his shoulder at his boss. "Huh?"

"Jason," Trent paused. "He doesn't remember what he does when he's, um, having a reaction. Doc, we've talked about this before. Davis pulled his entire military file, you have all his health records. There is no history of him reacting negatively to any medications. No history of allergies. Why now?"

"Can't tell you."

"Is this something that will affect his military career? His job?" Jason asked.

"Nope, he's got me and Trent." The doc paused, relented. "Well, maybe a bit. Just until we get him figured out. Trent's willing to take it on, and with me, kid's good. We got him covered."

"He's got all of us." Jason corrected.

"Might not be that simple." Trent said.

"What?" Jason asked, frowned. The doc was tapping on a laptop, writing on paper with an actual pen. Wow. What didn't the doc want in Clay's official file?

"I've been keeping an eye on him, doc's been calling around, checking with the doctors who have seen him before….today, when he settled down after trying to jump from the truck, did you notice he was with Brock? Had a hold on him? Didn't let go?"

"No."

"Coping mechanism." The doc didn't look up, didn't stop writing.

"You better start explaining that and use words I understand." Jason commanded, went ignored.

"Aah, here we go." The doc waved Trent around to view the laptop with him. "He was here this morning, told the medic he was sneezing, watery eyes, runny nose, a wet duffel on the plane was moldy. He was given an antihistamine."

"Antihistamines can make you sensitive to the sun." Trent said slowly. "Does it say which one?"

"Promethazine." The doc crowed triumphantly! High-fived Trent. They were silent, reading the computer screen.

"Side effects include vomiting and fainting." Trent told Jason. "Inability to sweat and may cause you to overheat. It's why he dehydrated so quickly."

"In other words, stay out of the sun." The doc was writing away, then typed on the computer. "Off the list of safe medications for Spenser to take." He told Trent. "Unless you're in, you know, the jungle somewhere." He opened a new tab. "Now, let's see what he can take he won't throw a reaction to."

"Which would be an antihistamine that isn't photosensitive." Trent explained to Jason.

"Wait it minute, hold up, time out." Jason made the time-out signal with his hands. "Explain the difference between side effects and reactions." Clay was asleep, they had a while to go before the IV bag emptied. "We got all night."

***000***

"How you doing?" Ray plopped his tray on the table, straddled the bench and sat down next to Lance. "How'd you like your first day of action?"

Lance was quiet, Brock and Sonny came, sat down, laughed and joked and shared offerings off their plates to one another and Ray. The dog settled under the table. Ray and Brock were drinking water, but Sonny had milk - real milk, not powered. Okay, so there was one advantage of being one of the 'elite seals'.

He shrugged, pushed peas around his plate. He was no longer hungry and pushed his plate away, gave up all hope of being able to eat. There were plenty of empty tables in the cafeteria, why had Ray sat down at his table? Sonny and Brock had joined Ray, not him.

"Uh." Lance stuttered, aware Ray was waiting an answer. Brock and Sonny didn't pay him any attention. "Was, um...fast."

Chris sat down on Lance's other side. "Guess you're okay if the doc let you go?"

Lance hadn't seen the doc. The medic who examined him had declared him fit and fine and said there was no need for him to see the doc. Lance didn't mind. The doc was busy with Clay and Jason and had he waited, he'd still be in the infirmary.

"I'm fine." Lance said, relieved when Matt and Jeff sat down beside Chris. Maybe the attention would shift from him.

"You should eat."

It took Lance a good moment to realize it was he to whom Sonny was speaking.

Before Lance could reply, Jason and Trent entered the cafeteria. Lance gulped, hoped the Bravo boss wouldn't come and join his men. He felt like the class nerd who was suddenly shown attention by the popular kids in school. And he didn't like it.

Of course the Bravo boss joined his men, Trent with him.

When they sat down, plates of food magically appeared and were shoved their way. Lance stared openly. Where had the food come from? And how had Ray and the others known what Jason and Trent liked to eat?

Yeah, no. Now really, Lance had no appetite. He couldn't make his tongue untwist and utter a word if his life depended on it. Luckily, with the addition of Trent, Lance was completely forgotten and ignored - Clay became the topic of conversation.

"How's the kid?" Ray asked Trent, eyeballing his boss. "Jason, you okay?"

Trent rolled his eyes, chicken leg in each hand. "Threw a reaction to promethazine." He waved a leg about. "Doc has him on IV fluids, see how he is, it drips through."

"And in English for us mere common folk, that's what given to treat what?" Sonny sighed dramatically.

"Antihistamine." Trent said. How could one piece of chicken be too dry to swallow but was greasy to hold? "Given for allergies."

"So, you're saying, he took this medication, had side effects?" Sonny leaned back, threw his hands up. "What I want to know is, why can't he have normal side effects like everyone else does? You know? Like, itching and rash." He complained. "What's with dehydrating and passing out and trying to jump out of moving trucks?"

"Yeah, no." Trent poked the peas, looked for steam, didn't see it. "There's medication you should stay of out the sun if you're taking it. Rare, but its Clay, anything's gonna happen."

It was speculation on the doc and Trent's part, but Trent saw no need to share that with the guys. He knew from experience, whatever he said, they would believe. No sense confusing them with maybe's and we think and what about's.

"He come around then?" Ray asked.

"Pfft. Not really. He just wants to sleep." Trent reached for a fork. "Gonna be some bumps along the way until I figure him out."

"How long's that gonna take?" Ray asked.

I? Not we? Lance thought. What did that mean?

Trent pushed peas onto his lukewarm mashed potatoes, stirred, made a mess. He took a bite, nope, peas were still cold.

"Gonna take time, we'll end up fucking him up a time or two." He buttered a roll. Oh yeah, he'd be working off this meal but he was hungry and while not the tastiest meal, he knew what the food was. He never knew what he was eating when he dined on the local cuisine of whatever country they happened to be in. "Salt?"

Salt? Salt? _SALT?!_ How do you idly say you're going to fuck up your teammate and then calmly ask for salt? What the hell was that? And no one batted an eye! Lance felt ill, knew he was green...Chris was staring at him.

"We in tonight?" Sonny asked, ducked his head at the look Jason gave him, passed the salt.

"Someone's gotta babysit." Ray said.

"Me? Why me?" Sonny protested.

"It's your turn," Jason said pointedly.

"I say we draw straws." Sonny grumbled.

"You never suggest that when it's not your turn." Ray teased.

"He's not staying in the infirmary?" Brock asked, moved the conversation along.

Trent shrugged. "Dunno." He took Sonny's glass of milk.

Jason wasn't eating much, picking at the chicken, yeah, his arm hurt. Doc had gone with stitches after confirming there was no damage to muscle or tendon and while stitches were nothing for a Seal to deal with, the penetration had been deep, the extraction fast and ruthless and his arm was swollen and bruising. He really should go lay down for a bit.

"Probably not, he doesn't like it there. He went to sleep, so we left to come get something to eat. He won't sleep long, he's alone."

Lance's eyes widened. Dare to steal from Sonny Quinn? And live to tell about it? Not even a slap or what the fuck you doing? That was real milk!

"Gonna make him run?" Ray asked Jason.

"Not gonna make him do anything." Jason massaged his eyelids with his thumbs, lowered his arm with a wince. "You are. He disobeyed you, not me. You do it."

"Yeah, uh boss, he won't take it well, coming from me."

"He's gotta learn Ray."

Sonny raised his hand. "I'll do it."

"Can't be too mad at him." Trent said, swatted at Sonny's raised arm. "Kinda liking my chances when he's high."

Brock nodded. "Never met anyone who likes to take head shots as much as that kid." He grinned. "Now a thumb. Took an ear last week."

"Where did shooting body parts all of a sudden come from?" Ray joked. "Remember when he hit that dude right in the nose? Didn't think he could do it from the angle."

"You dared him." Brock reminded him. "Dare him to take a toe next time."

"He's gonna ask if we got that thumb for him, a souvenir." Sonny chortled. "Swear, that kid was born to kill."

Lance blanched. He couldn't believe everyone was just sitting here at dinner nonchalantly joking about shooting specific body parts, and wanting to keep them. Taking deliberate head shots - killing people, like it was no less normal than discussing the latest football game. He was gonna hurl. He reached for his water, kept his head down.

"Boys." Eric wedged in between Jason and Trent. "Jason, thought I ordered you to lie down."

"Will."

"Trent, what's the word?" Eric turned his attention to the team medic. Jason would go to bed after his men all ate and they checked in on Clay.

"He threw a reaction to Promethazine." Trent answered. "He gave me a heart attack over Demerol. Knocked me off my feet today when I saw him slumped against the wall. Doc doesn't know why he throws reactions to medication now, when he says he never did before."

"So what, the fainting today is a reaction to something he took that made him sensitive to the sun?" Sonny asked, reverting back. "That ain't so bad, is it?"

Lance was having a hard time breathing...everyone was so cavalier. WTF! Yeah, Sonny, fainting for any reason is bad! Especially if you have a high-powered sniper rifle aimed at your teammates! OR AT ANYONE!

"He's okay though?" Sonny paused, put down his chicken leg. "Wait, you don't mean…..you don't think….He's not taking nothing illegal? I'll kick his ass he…." He started to get up, Brock put a hand on his shoulder, pushed him back down.

"Sit. Stay." Brock said, Cerberus whuffed. "Not you."

Trent sighed, held a hand up, set the empty glass of milk down. It was real milk, not powdered and he wanted more. Jason was eating a slice of chocolate cake. Good, Trent wouldn't be running alone.

"No Sonny, nothing illegal. Kid's young and reckless but he's not stupid." He folded his hands, rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. "It's just…..I don't think this is going to be the only time he does this. It'll happen again."

"What are you saying?" Sonny asked slowly, mourned the loss of his milk. Wait...wait...just wait...hold the fuck up. "Wait...what? Hold the fuck up here Trent. You saying the kids got an illness? We...we...we're gonna lose him?"

"What?! No!" Trent exclaimed. How the hell had Sonny jumped to that conclusion? "He's not dying Sonny."

"Look numnuts, I know that. Or you wouldn't be sitting here eating my dinner, just sayin'." He paused, swallowed hard. Damn, he hated being all emotional. "Is the kid sick, like he can't be on the team, sick?"

Trent shook his head, pushed a hand through his hair. He needed a nap, he was getting cranky. "Nope." He looked at Jason, Brock was stealing pieces of his cake with his own fork. "Now that we know he reacts negativity to photosensitivity medication, we simply don't put him on it if he's going to be in the sun. If we're the jungle, won't be an issue."

"Good thing you're keeping notes." Jason replied dryly.

Lance was confused. How could Clay continue to run operations and missions if he couldn't go out in the sun? Brock was eating Jason's cake? Lance gulped, his knee started to jounce. It was one thing to watch Trent take Sonny's milk, but…but…..to just eat off the boss's plate? He watched, fascinated, certain that Brock would be stabbed with a fork.

"Might as well tell them Trent." Jason rubbed his temple. "Here, later, alone, makes no difference."

"Wait, you know about this?" Ray asked.

"We talked while the doc set my stitches." Jason confirmed. While he sat and watched the kid sleep was more like it, but no need to admit that.

"Anyone gonna fill the rest of us in?" Brock asked.

Jason snorted. "I'm betting you already know."

Trent and Brock exchanged a glance, grinned.

"He didn't recognize who he was with on the truck." Trent began. Brock licked the fork, looked like he'd be running with them. Eh, least it would be on the treadmill. Jason wouldn't make them run out in this heat, would he? He would, before dawn. Ugh. "So, if he's not with it, is out of it, whatever he does, let him."

"Let him jump out of a moving truck?" Sonny said doubtfully. "Yeah, okay there Trent, don't know what's in your chicken, but how about no, we're not letting him do that."

Trent sighed, sat back from the table. The food wasn't hot anyway, God, when was the last time he'd had a hot meal? He wanted a steaming hot chicken pot pie.

"That's not what I meant." He began irritably. "Until we figure him out, God knows what to expect, 'cause I sure as hell don't. If he takes medication, chances are good, he'll throw a reaction. No, we don't know why. So far, he doesn't remember any of it when he wakes up. Won't take long to know which medication is safe for him to take, 'til then, deal with it. Nothing's gonna be simple with him."

"As long as he's with someone he knows, he's good." Jason said tiredly. "Just keep an eye on him, get him through it. Ain't that hard Sonny."

Trent and Brock could easily see Sonny didn't get Jason's meaning, both smirked, let it go. Sonny would soon learn.

"You wanna say that again?" Sonny asked. "In plain words this time."

"If the kid crawls into your lap and grabs hold, let him." Trent said simply.

Silence, then Sonny found his tongue. "You want me to do, what?"

"No idea why now, after all this time, he's having these issues with medications?" Eric asked.

Trent shook his head.

"Worked with a dog once." Brock spoke up. "Got bit by a tic, developed an allergy to beef."

Ray laughed. Jeff, Mark, Chris and Eric cracked grins. Sonny was still staring open-mouthed at Trent. Lance was lost. But Trent was nodding.

"Wait, that's a thing?" Ray said. "Really?"

"Who's to say a spider or insect bite can't cause something like that? Modern medicine doesn't know everything." Trent reached for another roll. "You don't have to stay in tonight Sonny, I'll watch him."

"Doc won't keep him over night?" Ray asked.

Trent hesitated. "I'd rather he not."

"Why?" Ray asked.

"Cause I don't think he's gonna have a good night."

"Here now, whad'ya mean, my lap?" Sonny was on his feet. "Let's get something straight Trent..." Trent just walked away, Sonny followed, still complaining.

They left the cafeteria before Ray could ask why Trent simply didn't leave Clay in the infirmary if he was going to have a rough night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, I wrap up another suggestion/request, asking for background on the 'red juice', the 'vote' and how Bravo came to 'understand and know and accept' Clay.

 "Something you wanna tell me Jay?" Ray asked.

"About what?"

"Why Trent isn't leaving him in the infirmary." Ray asked said. "Where he belongs."

"He wants to, uh, test a theory."

"A theory?"

"I dunno Ray. He needs to know when it's okay to take the kid from a hospital or medical care and when he needs to leave him." Jason sighed. "He and Doc want to...um...ahh...experiment a time or two. Test him, I guess. See if they're right."

"About what?"

"Ask Trent."

"You're okay with it?" Ray asked, stunned. "Let the kid suffer, let him have a rough night to prove a theory?"

Jason waved a hand. "Hell Ray, not like I'm denying him anything. Trent will take care of him."

"Jason." Eric stood up. "I'll walk you to your quarters."

Jason sighed, pushed to his feet. An order, not a suggestion. Eh, no sense arguing. He was ready to lie down anyway. Trent wanted to bring Clay back if the doc agreed he didn't require further IV fluids, and Jason didn't see any reason he shouldn't, so might as well grab a nap while he could.

"You guys good?" Brock asked, helping Ray collect plates, silverware, trash. "Bit of a day, huh?"

"Yup." Matt answered. "Doubt anyone's up for drinks tonight?"

Brock shook his head. "Jason didn't say no, but with Clay down, we'll stay close."

"Not much of a bar anyway." Jeff returned with a pie to split for dessert. "We'll stay in, play cards."

Brock nodded, whistled for Cerberus. "See you guys around."

"What's up?" Matt asked Lance once Brock and Ray were gone. "Can't let it get to you, not if you're gonna do this job, shake it off, move on."

"How do you do it?" Lance asked as Jeff served him a slice. "This, all day, every day."

"Do what? Our job?" Chris stared at him. Lance was a good guy, young and green, a good mechanic, a good shot. He missed Seth, but he wasn't unhappy with Lance. "Wha'd'ya mean? Went a bit sideways, sure. Most ops do. Nothing to make a fuss over."

"A woman lost her thumb."

"Are you still hung up on that?" Chris shook his head. "Let it go. She would have killed them Lance. Them or us. It goes that way, it's always gonna be them."

"Those two men…..they were just walking."

Chris nodded. He knew about the shots Eric had taken to put down the two men.

"They weren't even armed." Lance continued.

"You don't know that." Jeff countered.

"And she was 'just' walking kids across the street. We didn't see anything wrong with it, but Spenser did." Chris chided gently.

"It's what he's trained for." Matt spoke up. "And always assume everyone over here is armed or wired."

"Okay, she was….but…they could have just been heading to lunch."

"Not a chance we can take." Jeff took a bite of pie. "The street already proved hostile, I was there Lance, they didn't respond to our request to halt."

"Maybe they don't – didn't – speak English."

"Bravo has Spenser. Trust me, Blackburn knows how to say 'stop, show me your hands' in Arabic." Jeff explained.

"Clay is fluent in the language." Chris, seeing the look of confusion, clarified for Lance.

"They…..they….they just…they kill people. Talk about it like its nothing." Lance stared at the table. "In combat, I get it. If someone's shooting to kill you, you shoot back. But they were just walking down the street. You keep telling she was going to blow them up…okay, so why not kill her?" He swallowed. "They...Bravo...they don't bat an eye. Eat dinner talking about keeping a thumb for a souvenir."

"It's just talk." Chris tried to make him understand. "You have to laugh, find humor or you'll lose your mind."

"Lance, kid, there are no answers to those questions. You either run with Bravo, follow Hayes, do your job, and keep your mouth shut or you request a transfer off the Seal Teams." Matt said kindly. "They - Bravo - are the best out there. They run on instinct and gut feelings – mostly Hayes's. They do things their way – his way. You'll drive yourself crazy asking what if and what about. Can't do that."

Observing Jason today, watching him interact with his men, Lance was beginning to see there was more to the Bravo boss then rumors led everyone to believe. Maybe he was a dick, but he didn't shirk from taking care of his men when they needed him either.

"Gonna be okay?" Chris asked. "Give it some more time. Things will settle down, not always so hectic." He hesitated. "Just, what you see or hear or learn, keep to yourself. You don't talk about Bravo. You know nothing."

Matt nodded. "Or you won't see the sun for six months. Hayes will bury you so deep on an iceberg, you won't even have contact with the outside world."

Lance as quiet. He didn't gossip. But he wouldn't be too upset when Seth returned. He really didn't think Bravo support was where he belonged.

***000***

Clay was asleep when Trent and Brock entered the infirmary, Sonny off on his own. Cerberus jumped onto the bed, nosed Clay's chin until he moved his head and raised a hand to scratch two furry ears.

"Hey bud." He rolled onto his back with a sigh. Wow, ow, he ached. Odd.

"Ready to go?" Trent asked. The doc wasn't around, but the medic on duty came to see what was going on, didn't disagree with Trent taking Clay from the infirmary, the doc having said to expect it. The IV port had been pulled from Clay's hand so Trent pulled back the blanket, smacked Clay's hip. "Come on, get up. I'm ready for a shower."

Clay blinked, raised a hand to rub his eyes. Yeah, both Trent and Brock were dirty and scruffy, clothes stiff and stained. He pushed up onto his hip, looked down. He wore his boxer briefs and while his hands were clean, he felt sand in his hair, his beard scratchy.

"Guess."

Brock snapped his fingers, Cerberus jumped to the floor, Clay slid down the bed until he was below the rails, swung his feet to the floor, stood up.

"Where're my pants?" He looked around, sighed. Ugh, infirmary again. Getting to be a habit.

"Don't need them." Trent said. Clay's clothes were no longer in the infirmary. "Come on."

He might not need them, but he wanted them. And he wanted a shirt and his boots.

"Don't pull a puss face." Trent warned. He had all the patience in the world when one of his team was hurt, injured, sick, ill….whatever, would always put their needs and comfort before his own, but when they were just being a stubborn dick, he had no time for it.

Clay might not remember everything that had happened and what he did remember, he probably didn't have in the correct order the events occurred, but a glance outside the window told him it was late in the day, maybe even early evening and Trent and Brock both wore fatigues and hadn't showered. They were tired and uncomfortable, impatient, probably hungry, had seen to him first and now they wanted to see to their own comfort.

Only fair.

Clay paused, one hand still holding the rails on the bed. His legs were a bit wobbly, his head didn't want to clear and he couldn't find his balance but Trent's tone made him let go.

"Ok." He nodded. Brock moved to his side, hands out and waiting…..Clay let go and Brock was there to catch him.

"Bit dizzy?" Brock asked. Clay pretty much caught his own weight, they didn't fall to the floor. He just needed something or someone to help him balance.

"Um, am I?" He fisted Brock's sleeve. "I am."

Trent snorted, opened the door. "Showers."

Brock gave him a WTH look over Clay's head, Trent shook his head.

"He smells Brock, they washed his face, his hands." He thought of the tub – the dirty tub. "He needs a shower."

"You heard him, shower." Brock steered Clay out the door, down the hall, outside. "You good? Stop weaving." Clay didn't want a shower, he wanted his bed, but apparently what he wanted didn't matter because he wasn't allowed to go in the direction he wanted to go - the barracks.

Clay pointed, stopped, but Brock shook his head, gave him a nudge in the back of his thigh with a knee. "Not that way. This way." Clay sighed, shuffled forward in the direction Brock wanted him to go. Who knew, maybe he'd feel better after a shower, doubted it.

Lisa appeared, waved, disappeared. No need to find the kid clean clothes. They'd be on a bench, waiting when Clay got out of the shower.

"Scrub." Trent ordered, handed Clay a bottle of body wash and a sponge. "Yell if you hit the floor."

Clay shrugged, nodded. Whatever. Everything was foggy, and it wasn't because of the steam from the showers. No matter how many times he blinked or rubbed his eyes or massaged his forehead, he simply could not bring reality into focus. He stripped, entered the shower, adjusted the water, stood under the stream of water until he felt his muscles ease, his body relax.

That brought him around enough he washed his hair, squeezed body wash onto the sponge. It was more or less routine motions that he knew he had to do, but wasn't really aware of doing it. It was weird, this fog. He tipped his face into the water, worked soap into his beard, rinsed.

Was he hungry? He didn't think so. Should he be? Probably. What time was it anyway? Was the cafeteria still serving? Even if it wasn't, he could get cereal or bread, knew where to find milk. Or was he confined to barracks, sent to bed without supper for disobeying Ray's order to remain at transport?

That he remembered. Why couldn't he remember anything else?

Most likely, he'd be running until he cramped. Ugh. Not now, he hoped. He really didn't think he could even tie his sneakers – if he could find them. Eh, least, in this heat, it wouldn't be long before he pulled up lame...he swayed, reached out for support, his soapy hand caught the wall, slipped and he was on his ass - he forgot to yell.

"CLAY?" Trent bellowed, sighed. He was brushing his teeth, hadn't even undressed. He spit and rinsed, started for the showers.

"I've got him." Brock called. "He's okay."

The sponge was taken from his hand, Clay didn't fight to keep it, let it go. His hand was held, pulled him to his feet. He was turned, his back to the stream of water. Oh, okay. He stepped forward, a hand on his chest pushed him back – gently, didn't want to make him fall again.

"Soap Spenser." Brock chuckled. "You can't get out yet. Rinse off."

"He good?" Trent came to the door, was still dressed, though he'd taken off his boots and socks, held a towel for Clay thinking Brock was letting him out of the shower.

"Give me a minute."

Clay turned and rinsed, turned and rinsed and rinsed again and Brock finally let him out. Clay stood still while Trent wrapped the towel around his waist, then sat on a bench and let Brock towel his hair.

"Clean enough." Trent announced. "Look at me." He waited. "Clay." He snapped his fingers. "Yo!"

Clay looked up, squinted. The light wasn't bright, in fact, was rather dim, but it still hurt his eyes when he raised his head and it came into his line of vision. He started to duck, remembered Trent's order, kept his head up, biting his lip to keep the wince back.

"Should light bother him?" Brock questioned quietly, rubbing behind Clay's ears with the towel.

"Shouldn't. Your head hurt?" Trent asked.

"Aches." Clay murmured. "Mmm."

"Probably from hunger." Brock handed him a t-shirt...he didn't take it, simply looked at it, then at Trent. "Arms up." Brock grinned at Trent, who rolled his eyes. "Gimme your hand, your hand! Clay...that's not...good God."

"You mind taking him back?" Trent asked. "You can leave him with Jason."

"Not a problem." Brock took hold of Clay's other hand, worked it through the sleeve. "Head...your head...duck, that's it. Jason should be laying down, if not, I'll stay until you come back. No hurry."

"He should eat." Trent hesitated. As much as he wanted a hot shower, he was sure Brock wanted one too. Then again, he'd been with Jason in an air-conditioned van, not held-up by a bomb-strapped bitch. "Sonny's somewhere...dunno where Ray got to."

"Davis brought him clothes, I'm sure she left something for him." Brock handed Clay a pair of plaid pajama pants, wondered where Davis had unearthed them from, he'd never seen them before. Didn't matter, they weren't flannel, so not too heavy for the heat. "Here, put these on."

"Do what?" Clay didn't reach for them, just sat.

Brock sighed, cursed, knelt down. "Gimme your foot."

"And you thought you were done dressing kids when your youngest turned five." Trent teased. Brock flipped him off.

Clay appropriately dressed to walk outside, Trent finally undressed, hopped in his much-desired shower and Brock led Clay out of the locker/bathroom.

Lance quietly turned and left the bathroom. He'd come back for a shower later. The men on Bravo were not what he expected at all. The few times anyone caught glimpses of them off base, they did not appear to be close with one another. Sure they interacted with each other at meals but other than that, they acted liked they could barely tolerate each another.

Seeing them in action, in combat, they were deadly, lethal, brutal and violent...hell, he'd seen videos of live action used in training, and while it was never confirmed it was Bravo in the film, everyone knew it was. Certainly, nothing Lance had ever seen or heard would lead him to believe they would help one another shower, dress and stay in barracks to keep an eye each other.

And to say Jason would stay in and _watch_ one of them? HA!

Lance thought he had it figured out, but when he mentioned to Chris what he'd overheard in the showers, Chris had laughed and assured him Trent and Brock had known he was there. Trent and Brock would be piss-poor Seals indeed if they weren't aware someone else had been in the room. That particular shower room was off limits to everyone except Bravo and their support team, and they just didn't feel the need to watch what they said or did in front of their support team.

Lance gave up.

() () ()

"Hey." Ray greeted when Brock opened the door to their barracks and let Clay enter first. "How you feeling Spenser?"

Clay gave a limp wave, foot on the first rung of the wood ladder that led to his top bunk before his elbow was taken and he was gently redirected. He didn't argue, went in the direction he was steered, only balking when Brock pulled the blankets back on the bottom bunk.

"T's Sonny's bed." He shook his head, stepped back. "No."

"Where Trent wants you." Brock gave him a shove forward.

Ray didn't argue or counter-command Trent's order. Made sense and it would be easier for all of them to keep an eye on the kid if he were in a bottom bunk. He switched the pillows. Sonny was territorial, would probably throw a fit, but if anyone could make suggestions and give orders without Sonny acting out, it was Trent.

"Doc let him go?"

"Didn't see the doc, the IV was out, so we just left."

Despite what Jason said, Ray didn't get it. The best place for Clay was in the infirmary under the care of a medical staff but what Trent wanted, Trent got. Jason rarely ever told him no when it came to medical issues...in fact, Ray wasn't sure Trent even asked.

"He doesn't look too good." Ray commented to Brock, who shrugged. "Thought he'd be feeling better."

Clay laid down, cheek on the pillow but before he could get comfortable, Brock was shaking him. He sat up with a huff.

"You hungry?"

"Don't...wanna...eat."

"Davis brought soup we can heat up." Ray said. "Hot plate and a pan."

Brock hesitated. "Anything else? Crackers? Protein bar? Trent wants him to eat something."

Ray went a-rummaging. He'd root through the table and on top of bunks, but he refused to dig into personal duffels and backpacks.

"What are you looking for?" Jason yawned. He was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing up?" Ray countered. "We were quiet."

"He's complaining his head hurts. Might be hunger." Brock told Jason.

Clay, sitting up on the bunk, slumped against the wall, wanted to lie back down and go to sleep. Didn't know why he was sitting up in the first place. He didn't want anything to eat. Maybe later, when his head didn't ache and the light didn't hurt his eyes.

"Am not c'plainin'." He protested. "Go to sleep, you let me."

"I got him." Jason told Brock who hesitated. "Go shower." He handed Ray several granola bars. "Water."

Brock handed his boss a bottle, gave Clay's knee a pat and headed off for his shower.

Jason unwrapped one of the granola bars, held it out to Clay who just stared at it with a lip curled in distaste. He wasn't hungry, didn't reach to take it.

"Need you to eat." Jason waggled the granola bar. "Couple bites."

"Not hungry." His eyes burned, felt dry. The skin on his eyelids stung, itched. He used his fingers to massage them, didn't help.

Jason looked at Ray who shrugged, hands out. Hell, he didn't know. "Take a bite." He ordered. Clay reluctantly did.

The door opened and Sonny strode in with Trent right behind him.

"He's in my bed." Sony stated.

"I want him in a bottom bunk." Trent replied calmly.

"Then put him in yours."

Trent nodded. "Sure." He agreed.

Sonny's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why my bed?"

Trent raised an eyebrow, waited. If Trent took Clay's bunk, he'd be sleeping above Sonny, which meant, if he had to get up with Clay during the night, every time Trent got up or down, the beds would shimmy and shake...Sonny sighed, dammit, why did Trent always have to think ahead and think of his teammates over his own comfort. Yeah, yeah, Trent could switch with Brock, but then...

Blue eyes blinked at him. Sonny expected a smirk, the typical, arrogant sneer on Clay's face, but the look the kid gave him was one of weariness and confusion. Whatever reaction he'd thrown to the medication this time, had kicked his ass. The kid was half sleep and chewing granola so slowly Sonny didn't think he was ever going to swallow.

Jason held the bottle of water out, Clay again just stared at it. "Clay." He squatted down, ducked his head under the top bunk, picked Clay's hand up and closed his fingers around the bottle. "Take a drink, swallow."

Clay obeyed, drank the water and swallowed - the water. He choked on the mouth-full of granola, tried again to swallow it - gagged. Tried more water, choked. Water dribbled down his chin, he raised his shoulder to use his sleeve, chewed some more, went green.

Trent who rested his hands on the top bunk, ducked his head, peered down at Clay, held his palm out.

"Spit it out." Trent said, Ray handed him a paper towel.

Clay was too tired to spit, just opened his mouth and let the wad of over-chewed granola fall into the paper towel.

"You said your head hurt." Trent said patiently. "It's due to hunger." He'd learned not to use words like; probably or maybe or could be or most likely. If he simply stated it, they believed him. "Want something else?"

At the mention of his headache, Clay raised a hand to rub his forehead. His head did hurt, the light didn't help and he really wanted to lie down. He wished they would all go away and leave him alone, in the dark with a blanket. No, he didn't want anything else to eat. He wasn't hungry. He thought maybe he had been, at some point, but not any longer.

"Trent?" Someone said - called - shouted. Clay wasn't sure which, his ears were buzzing - ringing.

Trent took the bottle and the granola bar from Clay's limps hands. Jason grabbed the kid's ankles, swung his legs around, hissed at the pull on his injured arm, but Clay didn't kick or jerk free so Jason didn't lose his grip. Trent cupped Clay's head between his palms, gently guided his descent to the pillow.

Clay felt the warmth of the mattress, the softness of the pillow, relaxed into the welcoming comfort. The blanket, despite the heat outside, was tugged from beneath him, his feet were tucked in and it was pulled up to his shoulder as he eased onto his side.

"He okay?" Sonny asked.

"Should be." Trent answered, waited for the joke, the sarcastic comment, but none came. He saw no one was happy with that response but he'd wait until Brock came back before he started explaining what Bravo was in for in the coming months with Clay.

Brock returned and with Clay asleep, quiet if uneasy, the rest of Bravo sat down with beer to discuss the day.

"Why is he here and not in the infirmary?" Ray asked finally. "What are you trying to prove?"

"An opinion?" Trent hesitated. That's all it was. His opinion. One he'd discussed with the team doc, and while the doc agreed it was not a medical diagnosis, he supported it. "He's here tonight so you all can see what I'm talking about. So, you'll take me seriously. I've been keeping an eye on him, he's easy to read you pay attention to him. I've spent a lot of time with Doc."

"We've noticed." Ray nodded.

"He doesn't eat, he gets headaches. Too much salt makes his head hurt. Yes, there's a difference. Sonny can fall asleep drinking coffee, but caffeine is going to keep the kid awake. He can't take Aleve, gives him leg cramps. We're going to find out more as we go, but it's all manageable."

"How do you know this?" Brock asked. "The salt, for one thing?"

"Experience." Trent replied. "Doc. He's seen a lot, been in the military nearly 40 years. Compare, guess, rule out."

"Are you okay with it?" Ray asked.

Trent hesitated, cast a glance at Jason. "Nate had a problem with me." He held a hand up when Jason began to object. "He did boss. We worked around it, but he would rather see the doc or any medic on base than me. Not Clay. Once he trusts you, it is a complete and total trust. That kid will let me do anything, will do anything I ask. I tell him not to take something, he doesn't. Hell, he'll even ask me before he takes something. He doesn't complain I'm too rough or abrasive."

"And now we have the team doc." Brock added. "Who doesn't have a problem with you either."

Jason was quiet. Yeah, fighting for a doc to be permanently assigned to the team had been worth it. Eric had selected well. But he was for the entire team - support team included. He couldn't spend all his time with Clay...but if he and Trent solved the puzzle that was Clay on their own time... well then, that was fine.

"Yeah, all fine, but," Ray paused. "It's asking a lot of you Trent, of us. We can't watch him 24/7. What if he's not with us and someone gives him something? Anything could happen. Take today."

Trent nodded. "It's a chance we all have to be willing to take. I think, if he wants to, when he has to, if we are in danger or he thinks we are, he will fight through the symptoms or reaction. Like he did today. He didn't uh, collapse until we were no longer in danger. When we were unaccounted for at the truck, he covered us. If we're with him and we're ok, he ain't gonna fight."

"Are you willing to put your life in his hands?" Ray asked.

Trent nodded. "Yes."

"But how does he know when to fight?" Sonny asked. "When not to?"

"I don't know." Trent admitted. "Maybe because we're calm and it's quiet and one of us is sitting near him and he can...hold on to, uh, us."

"And the problem is?" Brock asked.

"When he's not with us and thinks he needs to get to us." Trent looked over at Clay. "On the truck, he didn't recognize Lance, didn't see any of us, and his thought was, he's on a truck, leaving us behind. Funny what he can remember and what he doesn't. And what he can, isn't in the order it happened."

"Kinda a good thing."

"Yeah, but not when he will do something stupid to try and get back to us."

"Any idea how to work around that?"

"No. Honestly? He may not react the same way every time he throws a reaction or suffers side effects. We can and will, figure him out. Just gonna take time."

"Bottom line?" Jason asked. "You want a lab rat, fine, take him. But, bottom line Trent."

"The biggest problem will be...and has been, the risks he takes to protect us. He puts himself in danger. Boss, you gotta work on that." Trent said, they all nodded. He paused. "Any new guy you ever add to the team is gonna be a problem. Clay doesn't warm up to people easily...we were all here when he joined us. He accepted us as a unit."

"That matters?" Brock asked, Trent nodded.

"So, anyone new, gonna take time. Why the complete and utter trust in us though?" Ray asked.

"Dunno. He accepted us." Trent shrugged. "That's the biggest hurdle, everything else we can work with and around. Yeah, we're gonna learn as we go, not a bad thing." He met Brock's gaze who broke into a slow grin. "Just, guys, he...uh..."

"He clings." Brock said. "If he's in pain or suffering a reaction or trying to fight through one, he copes by holding onto something."

"Someone." Trent added. "One of us."

"Yeah, stop right there Doogie." Sonny put a hand up. "I'll carry that kid on my back out of a jungle, I'll retrieve his severed leg and put it in a cooler of ice, but you want me to let him crawl into my lap, hold him while he ...while he...does what?"

"Good God Sonny, nothing like that." Trent sighed. Like a severed leg would fit in the size cooler they carried.

"This is serious, isn't it?" Ray asked quietly.

"If we aren't willing to work with him, figure this out, we can't keep him." Trent said. "We." He waved both hands in a circle. "All of us. He can't be on Bravo if we all aren't willing to help him."

"And if he leaves the team?" Sonny asked.

"He'll go to Charlie or Delta. He'll either make it or he won't." Trent didn't mean the team, he meant life, and they all knew it. "Let's get through tonight, we'll talk in the morning."

Jason and Ray slept in an adjacent room. It was small, but separate and neither were content to be apart from the others. Jason crashed on the couch, the mild pain-killers the doc had given him for his arm making him sleepy. Ray resumed his seat in the arm chair, picked up his book. Brock, Sonny and Trent crashed in their bunks, called home, or answered emails or slept.

By dawn, everyone on Bravo understood what Trent had been trying to tell them. Clay hadn't had a good night. He'd slept fitfully, uneasy and unsettled, but let someone talk to him quietly, or sit beside him, or in Sonny's case hang over the top bunk until Clay could see him, he quieted down and went to sleep.

() () ()

"Let's put it to a vote." Jason passed out five identical pieces of paper and five pencils. "Yay or nay. Nothing more. It's that simple. Majority rules."

Was Bravo going to keep Clay Spenser?

Jason had his doubts he would get five yay's. He actually expected two nay's – Ray and Sonny. Trent and Brock would want to keep the kid. The vote was confidential, that would leave him as the tie-breaker.

One by one, each man wrote a word, folded the paper the same way, dropped the paper in a hat. Last vote in, Jason shook the hat, held it in his lap. He knew he could do whatever he wanted to do, regardless of the outcome of the vote. He could keep the kid or transfer him out.

Jason withdrew the first paper, unfolded it, laid it on the table; yay. Repeated the process with the second paper; yay. Same with the third; yay.

"That's it then." Ray said quietly. "We keep him."

Sonny squirmed. Three yay's meant the other two votes didn't need to be read, but he wanted to know. _He had to know!_

"Read the next one." He ordered Jason. He waited, breath held, toothpick still but Jason didn't even raise an eyebrow.

"Might as well." Trent added, so Jason withdrew the fourth vote, laid it open on the table; yay.

Jason held the fifth and final vote in his hand. Now he didn't want to know if any of his men said nay. Taking a breath, he unfolded it, read the last and final word out loud.

"Yay." He looked up, stared directly at Ray.

Ray shrugged. "That kid's talent Jay? Come on! Not letting that go. Yeah, he bucks my authority, but not for something stupid. He's young and he's impatient, who better to teach him, then us?"

"Trent's right." Sonny added. "That kid risks himself to have our backs. Can't turn my back on that."

"Trent?" Jason turned to his so-called team medic. "A lot of shit is gonna fall on you."

It was Trent's turn to shrug. He grinned, looked forward to the challenge. "Only until we get him figured out." He was surprised and pleased there hadn't been a nay. He'd bet on Sonny to say no. "We've got doc and Blackburn. Davis."

"What about you?" Brock asked their boss. "You want all this upheaval?"

Jason grinned. "I love a challenge."

Five fists met in a bump. Bravo was going to keep Clay Spenser.

_***a week later, in Virginia***_

"Really? We gotta run hills?" Sonny scowled, kicked stones. "That hill? Not fair boss."

"Oh, you're running Sonny." Jason nodded. "We're all running. You have the next three days off and knowing you, you'll spend it in a strip club. Oh, and Sonny, run it in under seven minutes."

The run over, the team gathered around the cooler, Clay selected a bottle of red Gatorade. Sonny soon tackled him, started to tickle him. When Clay broke free and rolled over, scrambling for his knees, Sonny caught him, hoisted him and flopped him over his shoulder, let him slide too far until Clay's palms touched the ground, gave him a good shake, held him by his ankles.

"Uh, Sonny!" Clay squirmed but Sonny had arms of steel, easily held him. "Sonny! Lemme go!"

"Oh no. Nope, not this time. Run now, you little runt." He was teasing, but Clay had beat them all on the run.

"Sonny!" Trent warned. "He's gonna hurl!"

"Sonofabitch!" Sonny bellowed, swinging Clay to the ground with a speed that couldn't possibly be gentle, yet was. "Never again! Everyone hear me?! No one give that kid red juice ever again! Anyone does, I'll break the nearest wall with their head! Am I clear? Y'all understand me?"

"Not the juice Sonny." Trent chortled. "Not the juice."

***END***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fear...the holidays are putting a crimp in my free time, but soon, I'll attempt another suggested story on, you guessed it...Clay! Will warn you all now, Summer will not be on Sonny's good side - because yeah, he loses Clay.


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